


If I could call you (half mine)

by Charona



Category: 12 Years a Slave (2013), Band of Brothers RPF, X-Men RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Jokes, Best Friends, Epiphanies, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Letters, M/M, Movie Reference, Realistic, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 12:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charona/pseuds/Charona
Summary: "Michael,I wish you with all my heart: health, luck, sunshine, a smile, patience and homour.Confidence, joy, courage, applause, tears of joy, excitement, inventiveness, good friends, serenity...and Love. I wish you love, Michael. Happy birthday!James"They've been best friends for over ten years now. Colleauges, brothers in arms and pen friends.Why did they risk it all?





	1. I will lift you up...

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> I'm new around here, but have written something, I'd like to share with all of you!  
> It will be a longer work, but most of it is already written and will be updated regularly!  
> As you'll see the story will cover a few years and contain flashback's etc. Therefore I'll mention the year in the beginning. Other than that I tried to stick to the known facts and simply change a few dates and stuff.  
> I hope you guys like it, please comment.
> 
> PS: I'm still looking for a beta reader for I'm not a native speaker (I'm German and I promise to use that on Michael at some point^^), so if you're interested, message me!

Present day, 2018

He looks into these incredible blue eyes. Sees every last drop of the northern sea and every damn Scottish-Loch inside them. He wants to touch him. Just let his hand one last time trace over all these freckles, sunbeams on elegant skin.  
Michael feels tears dwell up inside of him, swallows hard to keep them down with all force that is left in him. He is so tired. His arms fall to his side and he sees James’s heart break – right in front of him.  
“I can’t…” he manages to say.  
“Yes, you told me that on the phone. Before. I came anyway.” James’s voice is quite, calm, Scottish-Isle-cliffs nearly inaudible. It makes Michael wince unnoticeable.  
“Thank you for coming.” Michael’s head is muted, all he can concentrate on is his own pounding heart and James, standing in the doorframe of his flat, hallway in, halfway out.  
“I just came by to grab my stuff. It’s not that much anyway and it will spare you the shipment of it all to my place.” He hesitates a second and clears his throat, before he speaks again. “Is she here?”  
He tries to glance behind Michael, sees the old photograph on the wall and overhears Michael’s soft “No, she’s out.” It’s a scenery of an old Whisky Distillery in the area of Speyside. Scotland. James has taken this picture while they have been venturing up a large hill. He could almost hear Michael read out the passage from the guidebook about the Duke, whose castle they’ve visited on that specific daytrip, and James has nearly stumbled over weather-beaten rocks and slippery long grass.  
Almost. Nearly. Their relationship’s consisted a lot of “almost”s and “nearly”s and “maybe”s. James would have teared up at the thought, if he wasn’t that good of an actor. There had never been a relationship between the two of them, just sex (breath-taking sex), excessive benders in almost every bar in London, Dublin, Glasgow and late night calls and secretly booked hotel rooms and agony (breath-taking agony).  
Michael in the meantime rummages through the small storeroom in the foyer and brings a cardboard box full of James’s belongings to light. James licks his lips and tries not to look Michael in the eyes. He sees the slight tremble in beautiful Irish hands.  
Everything about Michael is beautiful. Distinctive facial features, brilliant lips, hair a lot of women would die for, and those green-grey eyes – cold streams, blossoms in early spring, well covered up by hoar frost, so cold and oh so promising.  
Michael holds out the box and James takes the last step to meet him right before the threshold.  
As the man he’s once referred to as his best friend, his brother in arms and his soulmate hands over the lighter than expected box of their shared past, their hands touch.  
Instantly Michael’s brain is filled with all the memories he intended so badly to forget, to lock away so deep inside his very soul he would never have to see them again. All the pain, all the desperation and all the hope, that had altogether vanished into thin air during the past few weeks, months, years, even decades. He stares into sky-blue eyes, hands still touching Scottish-pale skin and remembers everything – he feels everything and is consumed by so much emotion.  
He feels a single hot tear running down his right cheek and angrily wipes it away with the sleeve of his blue sweater. 

James nods at him, takes the blue box, thumbed letters protruding over the edges.  
“I wish you all the best, Michael.” James murmurs and walks down the stairs to his best friend’s front porch. “I hope the wedding goes as planned.”  
Michael scoffs in pain and bites his lip. So many times they’ve said goodbye to each other, have gone separate ways for months and even years. Now it’s different and the desperation takes Michael’s breath away – because this time he knows that it’s a farewell for good. James will never come to his place again, will never stand in front of his door with the brilliant and sassy and impish grin of his. Michael wants to say something, anything, but he can’t. He’s lost him, maybe years ago, maybe by proposing to Alicia, but what was he to do? He can’t have James, can he? Not the way he wants him anyway. So he stands in his doorframe and watches James depart. “Please turn back.” Michael begs by himself. “Please turn back and look at me.”  
…


	2. Past I - Brothers in arms (2010)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! 
> 
> Let's start with the actual story, shall we? There are a lot of movie references in this one, but not every chapter will include that many, I promise. 
> 
> Curtains up!

Past I - Brothers in arms (2010)

 

Michael took a drag from his cigarette and let the smoke depart from his lips in a lazy exhale, as he drew circles with his shoe in the grass. He looked up into the slowly darkening sky, caught a glimpse at a bat that drew far more acrobatic circles in the warm summer air before it vanished behind one of the many trailers lined up outside the huge studio.  
It was their last day of filming X-Men: First Class. It was a late summer evening, warm enough to wear T-Shirt and jeans. Michael waited for James to get out of his trailer. They – including Jennifer, Hugh, Nicholas and Kevin – wanted to go to a pub close to the studio area that the Irishman had encountered on one of his first days on set. They all wanted to spend the night together, drinking, talking and celebrating the final wrap of shooting their first X-Men sequel. To be honest it wasn’t the official wrap party. That was scheduled for tomorrow night at an expensive hotel in London with expansive suits, expansive champagne and expensive dinner. They all agreed to have a real wrap party before the official one. It just didn’t feel right.

“Hey, mate, thanks for waiting! I had to check on my two at home first and sing Brendan to sleep” James grinned as he jumped down the metal stairs and landed on the grass gracefully like a cat.  
Michael lit two cigarettes and handed one over to James, who sighed in appreciation.  
“Thank you. Again. That’s what I need right now.”  
James launched himself at him and the taller man nearly stumbled and fell. Michael grinned one of his shark like grins and patted James’s back.  
“Where are yours?” he asked still grinning and took a drag of his own once more. He watched James smoke while they made their way down the long aisle of trailers to the exit of the huge parking lot currently occupied by over 200 cars and trucks.  
James waved indistinctively in his direction.  
“I tried to quit.”  
Michael laughed at that.  
“Yeah, sure.” It was something he couldn’t even imagine in his wildest dreams. Cigarettes were a part of James like his unbelievable talent and his Scottish accent.  
“How’s the family?” he asked instead and watched fireflies glow in the distance.  
“Brendan is growing so fucking fast, Michael, it’s scary, really. I bet by the time I come home he walks.”  
Michael had no clue about the developmental stages of a toddler, but to see James so happy was delighting. He remembered the call when James discovered that he was about to become a father. Michael recalled the trembling voice and sheer happiness in every word and freely flowing tears of joy. Although it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t planned in any way. Still James handled it just perfectly as always.  
They found their way out of the maze that was disguised as a parking lot and a few minutes later they entered the pub.  
The bartender – Harry, Michael remembered – greeted them with the wave of a towel and pointed at the table in the corner with an empty pint glass.  
Jennifer spotted them first and whistled through her fingers. It wasn’t actually necessary, because the bar was completely empty and silent for they had rented the whole – admittedly tiny – room for their private party.  
“Hey, love birds. You’re late!” Jennifer called out, all blond hair and huge eyes.  
Michael rolled his eyes and hugged his colleague before saying hello to the rest of the gang.  
James threw an arm around him and mocked in a terribly false gay falsetto  
“Sure, darling, we had to celebrate our never ending love with brilliantly hot sex. Otherwise I probably couldn’t restrain myself from jumping at this tall, handsome sex god of an Irishman.”  
Michael shoved him off and yelled “Shut up!” which lost all it’s effect because he burst into laughter immediately.  
“All jokes aside, I had to ring up my son.”  
Hugh laughed at that.  
“James, your son is barely a year old. He can’t understand you.”  
“I know that, smart ass, but he likes my voice and Annie told me, that he sleeps better after he heard me talk.”  
“Or sing” mocked Michael “It’s remarkable though that the little guy doesn’t end up having terrible nightmares because of that.” He was just able to dodge James’s punch.  
“Fuck you.” But James smiled so the insult didn’t bite. Michael grinned and then made his way to the counter. Harry gave him a nod and disappeared. Michael’s paid the bar several visits in the past few weeks of shooting and more than once he’s ended up behind the counter – mixing his martinis and other creations consisting mostly of vodka and white rum. He had asked Harry beforehand and the old Brit had been more than happy with the request to let the former bartender take over the bottles and shakers for this particular event. It meant a free night and an extraordinary huge tip for him.  
“Hey, guys, come on, what may I conjure for you tonight?” 

A few minutes later he served a round of dry martinis – olives included.  
James whistled silently in astonishment and got up from the dark wooden bench.  
“Oh god, thank you. You’re the best.” With that he pressed his lips on Michael’s, who nearly dropped the glasses. It was just a little smack on the lips, nothing special and not the first time either. They were both physical people, shared an intimate friendship and were not at all shy about contact in general.  
Michael laughed it off, like he always did, put drinks on the table and received colorful and exuberant compliments on his bartender abilities.  
His lips still tasted like cigarettes and martinis and James and Scottish highland herbs and – Michael shook his head and took a sip from his own.  
James appeared by his side as if summoned.  
“Would you like to have a smoke with me? Outside?”  
Michael nodded holding on tight to his drink and followed his Scottish pendant through the door into the now completely darkened night.  
“Hey, we should see if we can find some decent Whisky in there.” James suggested and lit up a cigarette with the lighter Michael had offered.  
“Sure, why not.” Michael smiled absent-mindedly. “What are you up to in the future?” He didn’t even intend to ask him that question and to avoid any feeling of regret he took a drag from his own cigarette.  
“I don’t quite know yet.” James said and shrugged. “I guess I’ll do some lighter stuff so I can be home more, you know.”  
Michael nodded although he didn’t know. After tomorrow’s official party he would return to his empty flat in London, rummage through the post to find an acceptable script or role offer and do his damn job. James seemed to read his thoughts because he sighed and exhaled cold smoke.  
“Let me guess, you’ll work your ass off as usual.”  
Michael chuckled at that and cocked his head.  
“Yes, probably.”  
“You know you can swing by whenever you want to, don’t you?” Reassuring blue oceans meet grey and mossy stone as their eyes locked.  
“You’ve got a family, James, I don’t want to intrude.”  
“What the fuck’re talking about, mate?” James snarled and twirled the cigarette in his fingers.  
“You could never intrude anything, Michael, for I am inviting you right now, okay? I want you to come by and stay a while, if you want to. You know we have a spare room in the house anyway. Just come by and say hello to my son. You’re his godfather for fuck’s sake, you’ve got every right to see him.”  
The ginger laughed at that, starting to think that James would honestly use is own first-born son to convince him to have social contact – scripts weren’t exactly the most communicative companions on the couch.  
Michael smiled at the thought of the ceremony, Brendan’s baptism, in the small chapel outside of London. It had been a short baptism and more a formality to them for James – and himself, regardless his German and Irish origin – has never been in any way religious. Annie had insisted on the baptism and James had brought up the condition that he could choose the godfather for Brendan – it ended up to be Michael.  
He knew that he was a welcomed guest, Annie liked him and Brendan always threw his toys at him which he interpreted freely as a sign of approval.  
But sometimes he felt lost in the middle of this perfect little family. He was still a confirmed bachelor, got absorbed in his work that he loved so much and if he was completely honest with himself, he would have to admit that he wasn’t even looking for something – or a romance. He was happy with the way it was right now.  
He shook off his thoughts and offered his best friend a smile.  
“I will, I promise.”  
James seemed content with that outcome of their conversation and stumped out the rest of his cigarette on the pavement.  
“You and I, whisky now.” Michael sighed in surrender.  
“At least something Irish. Please.” He begged – how patriotic he could become when it came to liquor. James snorted in response and opened the door for them. They could hear Jennifer laugh wholeheartedly about something Nick had just said and Michael smirked. That woman had become somehow the little sister he never wanted and he truly loved her.  
“Uh, no, not that cheap plonk, mate, but something good. Scotch.”  
Michael shoved him with his elbow and huffed in false dismay.  
“As if Scotch is a synonym for good Whisky…”  
“Scotland is the one and only hub of the whisky world, my friend, and tonight I will show you some of the really good stuff, if Harry has any, of course.”  
Michael nodded at him and his smirk changed into a more flirting smile. He winked at James.  
“Is that an offer or an invitation, McAvoy?”  
“Oh, shut up, Fassy.”  
Michael laughed, disappeared behind the counter and came back with two tumblers.  
They stood in front of the impressive shelf over and over filled with whisky bottles.  
“Shall we?”  
James’s smile was the definition of mischief. Michael licked his lips, tasted cigarettes and martinis and grinned very well aware of the fact that he looked like a hunting shark – a happy hunting shark.  
“Let’s celebrate the shit out of it.”  
The contagious laughter of a thrilled and happy Scotsman filled the pub and Michael couldn’t hold back the sheepish smile that spread across his face. 

Three hours later they sat around the wooden table in the far left corner of the small pub, the tabletop overloaded with – mostly – empty glasses, pints and bottles. Jennifer fell asleep half an hour ago and leaned against Nick’s shoulder, who had one arm wrapped around her and held her while he tried to stay awake with all force.  
Michael had just served a round of Irish Coffees as a last drink for the night. Hugh played darts at the other end of the room and didn’t seem to hit the target at all because of missing coordination in his drunken condition.  
James licked cream from his lips and purred like a happy cat – a drunk, mischievous, sleepy cat.  
Michael patted his back and let his hand rest in his neck, circling over warm skin and grinned.  
“You good, mate?”  
“Sure.” James voice was a slurred Scottish murmur.  
“Come on, I’ll take you back to your trailer.” Michael said and pulled James to his feet.  
He tossed the keys for the bar to Hugh, who still seemed to be the least drunk member of their group of miserable drunk human creatures.  
“Lock the door when you leave, will you?” he told him on their way outside. “I’ll bring them back to Harry tomorrow morning… or maybe in the afternoon.”  
Hugh just nodded and waved them off, still determined to defeat the daringly swaying dartboard. 

Michael led James outside. The chilly air hit them both hard as they made their way back to the parking lot. Michael fished his pack of cigarettes out of his jeans pockets and lit again two cigarettes of which he handed one over to James. The Scotsman seemed more sober in the cool night and bright blue eyes shone in appreciation of the good-night-smoke. He’d probably regret all the booze and the cigarettes in the morning when his throat would be dry and his voice would be hoarse. He smiled nevertheless.  
“You know, I’m going to miss you, don’t you?” James said all of a sudden and Michael nearly stumbled over an unevenness of the pavement.  
“Yes, I’ll miss you, too, but the next sequel of X-Men has already been confirmed, so we’ll see each other at the latest in two years from now.”  
“Still a long time.” James murmured and Michael licked his lips to gain some time to think about the surprising turn their conversation just took. A few moments ago they were laughing about a funny anecdote from Michael’s cross dressing scene in the strip club they’ve recorded last week and some ginger wig incident – “That was hilarious!” James had exclaimed in his typical and while slightly drunk even more conspicuous Scottish chant and Michael had erupted in hearty laughter.  
Right now James’s eyes were crystal clear and looked at him inquiringly and wistfully.  
Michael sighed and bit his lip.  
“Do you remember the first time we met?” James asked and managed to surprise Michael the second time in less than a minute.  
“At the set of Band of Brothers? Sure. You stole a lot of helmets and canteens and once even Damian’s beloved gloves.”  
James shrugged and grinned proudly at the memory.  
“Yes, that was a good one. Do you remember what the very first sentence was you’ve ever said to me?”  
Michael raised his eyebrows in deliberation and then shook his head.  
“No, I can’t recall right now. What did I say to you?”  
“’May I have a smoke?’”  
Michael’s laughter reverberated through the dark and empty street.  
“Really? That’s what I said to you back then?”  
A part of his brain wondered why the hell James brought this up now in the middle of the night and more or less intoxicated and the other part asked itself why James still remembered that at all. It was over ten years ago though.  
“You did and I thought: That American is pretty cool and sassy and then Tom Hardy joined us and introduced us, while the two of us shared a cigarette for it was my last one.”  
“Right, I remember that.” Michael said smiling at the memory. “Hardy was pretty cool and wanted us to get along with each and every one on set.” He chuckled and nudged James with his shoulder.  
“I still can’t believe, that you actually thought I was American!”  
“You played an American soldier! Take it as a compliment, Michael.” The Irishman schook his head and sniffled.  
He still remembered the moment he met James again in London. He’s passed him by on his Vespa (the chaotic traffic in London makes driving his Yamaha quite obsolete) and stopped after recognizing him. James’s looked at him like he’d seen a ghost at first, but they've had a coffee, then dinner and have sat in a pub until sunrise and the bartender's dragged out their still drunkenly giggling asses.  
The rest is history, really…  
He also remembered how pleasant he found that Scotsman on first sight. All ruffled dark hair under a dusty helmet and far too big uniform around a slender body. They’d been just about 20 years old and Michael could still recall that cheeky grin on a pale face. He smirked at the thought.  
“Yes.” James said nodding and exhaled cigarette smoke that departed in lazy circles from his mouth. “It was the first time I died on set.”  
Michael frowned – the third time he’s surprised by James in less than two damned minutes. What a night!  
“I remember that scene. It was horrific.” He said despite his confusion, thinking about James lying lifelessly in that trench. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath before answering.  
“I came to enjoy dying on set, to be honest, mostly because it’s a memorable way of ending a role.”  
“Really?” James sucked at his bottom lip and cocked his head. “Interesting thought, but I don’t like it. I find it extremely difficult to stand up after the scene and not be dead, you know what I mean?” James said as he waved drunkenly through the air. “When the director yells “Cut!” and you just get up and rise from the dead all of a sudden. I don’t know, I’ve got my problems with that. My character just died and maybe I’m just surprised that I’m still alive or something”  
Michael made a thoughtful sound and clicked his tongue.  
“That’s an interesting theory.” He said. “I’ve never given it much thought to be honest.”  
James shrugged and stopped in front of his trailer.  
“And I still find it even more difficult than that to watch colleagues of mine die on screen. I sympathize with them and their characters so much throughout the whole movie that it physically hurts when they die.”  
Michael looked his best friend in the eyes and followed the impulse to put his hand on James’s shoulder, squeezing compact muscles.  
“I know that, too, James. You called me right after you’ve watched “Hunger”, remember? You were actually pretty pissed because of the weight loss and-“  
“That was ridiculously drastic and fucking dangerous, Michael!” James interrupted. “You looked like a fucking skeleton. A bit of make-up was totally enough to make you look like a walking corpse.”  
Michael simply shrugged at that. He was a method actor and loved everything about his job. He liked playing and being Bobby Sands for it was a strong and willful character. As his eyes met James’s he faltered a little. James looked worried and bit his lips nervously.  
“I honestly liked the role, but I see your point, James.” He gave in. “I was under observation the whole time. Various doctors checked on me periodically. There was nothing to worry about.”  
James stammered something inaudibly and sniffled.  
“Can you at least warn me the next time? I don’t know, call me and say “Hey, James, you beautiful human being, a movie of mine has its premiere next week and I’m going to starve to death in the end so be prepared”?”  
Michael snorted and shook his head in amusement.  
“Okay, next time I will simply send you the script. Not the whole thing of course because that would get both of us in great trouble, but an extract, all right? Then we’ll talk about it. You’re a great counselor anyhow so I could actually follow your advice.”  
He shrugged again before pointing at the trailer door.  
“Now go to bed please. I’m getting cold and we should both get a few hours of sleep.”  
James nodded and then he hugged him – just like that because spontaneity was James’s middle name. Michael embraced his best friend tightly and held him for a couple of seconds.  
“Please do that, will you? Call me, text me, write me a damn letter if you want to. Just don’t be a stranger.” James whispered and suddenly Michael felt very, very sober.  
“I won’t, I promise. Now go to bed please. I’ll ring you up in the morning.”  
James let go and turned around quickly, but not quickly enough since Michael still caught a glimpse of wet blue eyes. He – too, spontaneously – grabbed James’s hand and spun the slightly smaller man around again, looked him deep in the eyes. The fingers of his right hand found their way to James’s cheek, touching warm, smooth skin. James looked better with a beard, he thought in the back of his head, even if he didn’t know exactly why.  
He leaned forward and let their foreheads touch.  
“I’ll always be there for you, you hear me? Always been and always will be.”  
James sniffled and nodded. Then he staggered up the stairs and unlocked the trailer’s door at his third attempt.  
“Good night, Michael.” He said and offered him an honest smile which Michael returned immediately.  
“Sleep tight, James.” He whispered, turned around and made his way to his own trailer. He really needed sleep and a shower and time to think.

As he reached his trailer at the end of the long aisle of parked vehicles he sat down on one of the cold metal steps and smoked yet another cigarette. He was weary to the bone, his eyes stung and by now his throat felt sore and raw. He recalled the previous conversation to mind and thought about what James has said. He will certainly miss him, too. They’ve behaved themselves on set like twins, who’d been separated shortly after birth.  
Michael smiled at the memory of all the pranks and games and other shenanigans they’ve pulled off together.  
Michel took another drag from his cigarette and sucked the smoke into his lungs.  
James tried to quit smoking. He knew very well, whose idea this must have been. Annie was a goodhearted woman, warm and friendly, but sometimes she could be a real pain in the ass, who didn’t seem to understand her own husband – not like Michael did anyway.  
Michael shook that thought off and licked his lips. He’s being unfair right now and he knows it. But the thought of not seeing James for over a year – and that was an optimistic guess for there currently being no contracts drafted at all – didn’t appeal to Michael in the slightest. He wanted to have James around him, he was the closest friend he ever had. Steve McQueen would be second because he really appreciated that man and his art, but no one came close to James in that matter. He was a brilliant person, lightheartedly funny and at the same time serious when the push came to shove. So humorous in the most inappropriate and filthy way, but never exaggerated the joke to an insult. He simply was a joy to be around and Michael’s heart ached at the thought of separating. 

He blinked, cleared his throat and stumped out the cigarette in the ashtray he kept on the small front porch of his trailer, before he went inside, kicked off his shoes and fell into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't they sweet?^^   
> I'm excited about your feedback
> 
> PS: I'm still looking for a beta... anyone interested?  
> I think I'll update every week or so, we'll see how it goes :D
> 
> Read you soon
> 
> Charona


	3. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks,  
> Thanks for the Kudos ;)
> 
> Let's see what happens next... The first interlude, the first letter. 
> 
> Curtains up!

Interlude, Part I 

Dear James,

(God, this feels awkward, but after you reminded me to stay in touch with you at the wrap party in September I thought I might as well do things right and start with a cheesy letter, entrance included)  
I honestly had to buy stationery on my way home, can you believe that? I’ve never bought any letter paper or a proper pen since I moved to London. I just didn’t have any use for it until now. It’s the first time I’m writing something on real paper since… I don’t know, 1998, maybe? Crazy… Let’s see how long my excitement lasts before my fingers start to ache…  
I’ll just write a few things down that are on my mind right now and we’ll both see whether I change them and send you a clean copy or simply leave them be. I don’t have any doubts you’d prefer the latter.  
I’ve been away for too long. The plants in my apartment have all died of thirst and I feel really sorry for them. Especially Jack, my cactus. I liked Jack for he was a gift from my sister...  
Do you know that feeling of coming home after weeks and months of shooting or touring or anything and somehow your apartment doesn’t look and smell and feel like it used to? I don’t have a name for that sensation but right now it’s pretty strong. I’m snuggling on the couch right now with some music (The 1975, just in case you wonder where your old record has disappeared to, I got it!) and a glass of whiskey (Irish, good stuff!). It’s good to be home again, more space, far more comfortable bed and the possibility of cooking my own dinner, which I just did by the way.  
The silence is still a bit strange though. Normally I couldn’t make you shut your impertinent mouth for ten minutes – just kidding, I enjoy talking to you, but still it is too silent right now.  
I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch with you any sooner, the last weeks have been a blur. I auditioned for a few projects.  
Steve has written a new movie and wants me to take over a leading role. You’ll find the promised extract of the script and a short summery in the envelope. What do you think about it? Daring, heavy stuff, isn’t it? To be honest I don’t know what to think about the idea of running around naked 80 percent of the film, but it is demanding and you know me, I can’t back up from taking on a challenge.  
Call me, as soon as you get this letter for I would very much like to hear your reaction when you read it!  
I heard you’re about to do an animation movie. That’s great, James! In a few years Brendan will hear his own father sing to him from the TV, which I think is a better way of introducing your son with your acting than showing him Wanted... I for sure will watch it in the cinema and sit there amongst four and five year olds and look like a complete idiot – or a creepy paedophile. Thanks for that, mate. I’ll do Shame just in revenge so you have to see me running around naked, HA!  
Okay, that was childish.  
The whiskey is empty by now and I’m super tired – and less expectedly my hand really hurts like hell…  
I wish you a Merry Christmas, James, and a happy new year! Allow yourself a break from everything and enjoy the time with your family, mate, you deserve it. We’ll see each other in April for the mutant promotion tour. I’m looking forward to it. Really.  
Please give Brendan a kiss from me and greet Annie as well, okay?  
Best wishes

Michael

PS: The small package is your Christmas present, so don’t open it before Christmas Eve, understood?!  
PPS: I know you can’t contain yourself, so… It’s a lighter. Hopefully it will finally stop you from stealing mine all the time, you undersized Scottish burglar! 

 

The promotion tour was a striking success, just like the studio’s planned it.  
Michael felt stiff and sore from laughing so much during interviews and panels. Most of them he attended together with James which only seemed to make things worse. He once even cried and had to take a break because his stomach hurt so much from the heavy fits of laughter. Still the broad grin stuck to his face and made his cheeks hurt. James was a brilliant companion in interviews, the personification of kindness and charm. They admittedly flirted a lot in front and behind the cameras, but Michael was okay with it. He didn’t feel comfortable in interviews in general. He never knew whether a question was answered accurately or he should reveal more or less details. He also wasn’t as good with people as James was, although James was definitely unbeatable in this subject anyhow.  
He made everyone fall in love with him after the first couple of sentences and sometimes Michael just sat back in his (most of the time pretty uncomfortable) chair and watched James talk and gesture and laugh and twist everyone in a five mile radius around his little finger with an impish grin. He felt so much admiration and pride and deep gratitude for this man.  
The flirtations were nothing but another childish game they’ve played since their shared days at the set of Band of Brothers. It was fun and made the awkward interviews and repetitive questions way more bearable than they used to be. 

The premiere went by in a rush as well.  
The Irishman could remember a few fragments of a delicious buffet, decent champagne and good chats with colleagues and guests.  
James had called him in the morning, saying instead of a reception “James Bond or bank clerk?”  
Michael, who had just opened his eyes a second ago and picked up his phone sleepily, grumbled something about a James Bond related sword of Damocles hovering over his head and rolled his eyes.  
“If you ask me, whether you should wear a bow tie or a necktie for tonight’s premiere, I’ll say neither of the two. To be honest I haven’t thought about it yet for it is-” He glanced at his alarm clock on the night stand and cursed under his breath. “-not even 8 o’clock in the fucking morning. What are you doing up so early, mate?”  
“I’ve got a child, Michael. A child that currently tries to kill me with sleep deprivation. Annie is touring across England in order to find actors for her new play and I am an inch away from hanging myself from Brendan’s baby mobile. ”  
James actually sounded terrible, so Michael smacked his lips and got up from his bed.  
“Come on over then and take Brendan with you. I’ll look after him and you can sleep on the couch for a few hours.”  
“I love you.”  
Michael laughed at that, plodded barefoot into his kitchen and turned on the coffee machine on the counter. He would definitely need the caffeine.  
“I know.”  
They spent the day together, attended the premiere and partied with their friends and colleagues while a babysitter looked after Brendan – who was fast asleep, because he was so tired from playing pick-a-boo and hide and seek with his godfather all day.  
After that they returned to their own daily routines.  
Michael buried himself in work. He currently handled four project at the same time and still managed to write and answer James’s letters. By now he had bought a blue box for the correspondence that grew steadily.  
Every day he checked the post and found himself giggling in excitement like a child whenever he found a neat white envelope with James’s tidy and straight handwriting. He even caught himself snatching a letter out of the poor mailman’s hand before he could make it up the stairs to the front porch – which was certainly a memorable encounter for both of them. 

 

Dear Michael,

I’m glad to hear, that Jack the Second is doing so well and most of all that he’s still alive – although a cactus is really hard to kill, right? So how did you manage to do that again, mate? Did you drown it? Thanks again for the laugh though, it’s still such a great story. Pour Jack the First… I struggled a while with the idea of buying you a new one as a Christmas present. Still happy, that you like Jack’s successor.  
Unfortunately I haven’t had the opportunity to watch Shame yet (I just asked my agent to send me a copy though) but the critiques I read were pretty positive so I’m looking forward to execute my part of our oral contract. Especially because you seriously went to the cinema for Arthur Christmas.  
I’m deeply in your debt for that, my friend.  
I’m already starting to feel nervous when I try to imagine what Brendan might think about it, when he’s old enough to understand it. Now I definitely know what is meant by the old saying that family is the greatest critic of an artist, Jesus Christ.  
What are you up to in the near future, old friend? (I can hear you grin, Michael, I’m inside your head. Imagine my evil laughter at this point, please.) Are you ready to give yourself a break or will you wait for paramedics to find your completely exhausted body in your flat? Oh, please don’t to that, Michael! You really need to rest. My invitation still stands, you know? Come by and stay a few days or weeks, if you’d like to. No human can maintain that workload you’re displaying right now – as much as I admire your endurance, strength and changeability, Michael, Jane Eyre was just flawless! And don’t you dare to give me that whole “Sleep is for the weak” bullshit. I can’t tease the hell out of you when you’re pushing up daisies.  
Okay, sorry, I’ll stop giving you a sermon now.  
I can’t wait for next week to come! Finally being a Mutant again and seeing all the crazy folks and Bryan, who probably still hates me for sending him a brown wig in order to make him believe I’m bolt before we even start filming. Worth the laugh though.  
Do you remember that night out in Glasgow a few years ago? I woke up naked and apparently I’ve shaved my head while being completely drunk. I still remember Annie’s shocked face and a few of your evil comments. Brilliant night!  
Oh, Brendan just woke up, Michael, so I’ve got to go now. I’m really looking forward to seeing you next week!  
Take care of yourself, Fassy. Please.

Love,  
James

Michael chuckled at that, watched the still a bit confused looking Mailman make his circuit for a second and then closed the front door – letter and envelope clutched in his hand.  
Yes, he also certainly was looking forward to seeing James again. Including his so bright eyes, his remarkable accent and each and every little freckle on his skin.  
Michael shook his head and put the letter into the blue box to all the other ones – not anywhere near James’s blue eyes, but still a kind reminder of the Scotsman and their friendship, that grew deeper with every letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you say? Let me know!
> 
> Read you soon ;)
> 
> Charona


	4. Past II - Collide (2012)

Past II - Collide, 2012 

 

James stared at Michael.   
He simply stared at him and couldn’t possibly force himself to look away.   
Michael stood in the smoking area behind the studio building and chatted with Peter Dinklage while smoking a cigarette.   
James’s just arrived from the hotel and wanted to say hallo to everyone before their first meeting would start in a few minutes – the usual script changes and costume discussions for the first few scenes. But as he turned around the corner and saw Michael standing there he froze.   
Scenes from Shame flooded his brain. Michael naked, Michael having sex and – in that that one godforsaken scene – Michael kissing another man.   
As soon as he got the DVD from his agent he watched the movie – a first time, a second time, a third time. He cried, he laughed because of Steve’s brilliant as usual storytelling and in the end he just sat in front of his laptop, a hand covering his mouth and sobbing drily in shock and pain and desperation. It was a masterpiece. Undoubtedly. A cold and unusual story presenting so much skin and yet so little emotion. Michael’s acting was flawless.   
He’d wanted to call him the second the credits flashed across the screen for the first time, but he simply didn’t do it, because he needed a second run to collect himself and get lost in Brendan’s dirty and empty and oh so terribly guilty mind again.   
And still – James swallowed hard and took a deep breath. His hands were shaking like leaves in a heavy autumn storm and he didn’t have a clue why he reacted that way. He’s seen Michael kiss a lot of colleagues, including himself for heaven’s sake. It was nothing special and kissing belonged to the job. It was as simple as that and still – James felt a gnawing feeling inside him. He couldn’t name it yet, but it certainly wasn’t jealousy or envy or anything like that.   
He couldn’t even tell if it was a positive or a negative sensation that took such a strong hold of him.  
He finally detached himself from the wall in his back and made his way to his co-actors. He hugged Peter, excited to work with the man who played his favourite character from Game of Thrones.   
Then he faced Michael, who grinned at him like a happy shark.   
“Hey, mate.” He said in that Irish accent and James threw his arms around him.  
“It’s so, so good to see you, man!” he murmured into the collar of his blue shirt. “I’ve missed you.”  
Michael’s upper body vibrated with a chuckle before he spoke.  
“I missed you, too, James. It’s great to see you.”  
Peter scratched the back of his head and grinned indignantly with their intimate welcome.  
“I’ll be… over there. Or searching for Jennifer. I heard she’s got donuts.”   
Michael just stared at James, who swallowed and scratched his chin. He’d grown a beard in the last few months, mostly because he didn’t have to shave it off for a role. Ginger beard and brown hair – whoever invented such a strange mixture.   
“I’ve really missed you.” James said again, looking at Michael. He remembered the scene from Shame once more, where Michael just laid in bed and watched the ceiling. He cleared his throat.  
Michael lifted his eyebrows and his stare intensified, if that was even possible.   
“Are you alright, James? You appear a bit jazzed to me.” Damn Michael and his instinct for James’s emotional state.   
“I’m good.” He said curtly and offered a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes.   
Michael frowned at that, offered him a smoke for his part. James took it which Michael noted as a positive sign.   
“What’s on your mind then?” He didn’t back down so easy and James cursed his best friend’s stubbornness before he sighed and lit his cigarette – with Michael’s lighter because it’s hard to break old habits. James gained time to think of a response and exhaled the smoke still under Michael’s careful observation.  
“I watched Shame.” He said quietly and kept staring at the concrete. Michael seemed to wait for James to continue but the Scotsman stayed silent. Michael sighed and tried to hide his disappointment.  
“You didn’t like it.” James’s shook his head immediately.   
“No, no. Michael, seriously, it was a fantastic movie! Not very positive or easy or anything, but it’s a brilliant piece of art.”  
Michael beamed at that, returning to be that happy Irish shark. Then he frowned again.  
“Why can’t I shake off the impression then, that something is bothering you?” He asked, but before James could say anything, Peter reappeared and told them, that they were running late for the meeting.  
They stumped out their cigarettes simultaneously and went inside. James read in Michael’s tense features that he would bright up that subject later again. He swallowed and sighed. He really had to think of an answer to that question, that wouldn’t cause too much trouble.

 

A few hours later Michael sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. His head ached and he was unbelievably tired.   
The script discussion was normally one of his favourite parts of producing a new movie, because it meant the opportunity for him to actually change something and have greater say in what was going to happen on-screen. Although he loved talking about acting and interpreting his character’s actions – especially Erik’s, who he really came to love in the last movie – it was tiring work. He put aside his pen and grinned at Jennifer who was laughing at something Hugh’s just said.   
He was so happy to be with these people again. Especially James, who still sat extremely silent on the other side of the big table. Jennifer laughed out loud and Hugh grinned proudly.   
“That is a brilliant idea!” Jennifer said, attracting the attention from everyone in the room. “Are we finally going to see a kiss between Erik and Charles? We have to top the strip-club-cross-dressing-scene after all.” She asked, blinking innocently at Bryan, who scratched his beard as an answer.   
James on the other hand reacted quite unexpectedly. He swallowed water from his bottle the wrong way and coughed violently. Nicholas patted his back, until he could speak again.  
“I’ll be in, if Michael fancies the idea.”  
“You know me, darling, I’ll always fancy you.” Michael grinned – humbly proud of his joke – and Bryan murmured something about changing the movie name into “Gays of future past” which led to another fit of laughter from Jenn. Michael in the meantime was too occupied with watching James carefully. His fellow actor looked lost in thought and way to serious for one of his favourite topics – Cherik-romance – being literally on the table.   
Bryan called it a wrap in this second and Michael hurried outside. He needed to stretch his leg and a smoke would be a great thing, too. James stayed put in his chair and it needed a nudge from Jennifer to get the Scotsman outside.   
In front of the building they decided to take a walk to Harry’s pub, who would be happy to see them all again after the long absence.   
Michael chatted with Hugh about all the world and his wife, while they strolled down the pavement.   
It was getting dark already, a sure sign of the approaching winter.   
He could here Peter declare “winter’s coming” from behind him and nearly stumbled over an unevenness in the concrete out of laughter. The hand that saved him from falling was James’s. Michael blinked and patted his best friend’s shoulder in appreciation.   
“Thanks, mate.” Michael said, but James just nodded and stayed silent. Michael’s concern over the Scotsman’s behaviour grew deeper with every second.   
Harry invited them for a few rounds of pints, although they all wanted to keep him from doing so.   
“Nonsense.” The old Brit grumbled. “You’re my guests and I even consider you my friends, if that’s okay with you.”   
They signed a few articles for Harry’s nephews and grandchildren nevertheless.

It was a splendid evening, filled with laughter and catching up on each other.   
Michael still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with James.   
Whatever bothered the Scotsman, he didn’t seem to want to talk about it, because Michael could never get his timing right to catch James, when he was going for a smoke. 

At one point he had enough and stood up to face James who just disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.  
Michael leaned against the wall and counted to 20, before James re-appeared blinking in surprise to see the Irishman in the hallway.  
“Hey, sorry you had to wait.”   
“I was waiting for you, James.” Michael pointed out and licked his lips.  
“Is everything alright?” James asked and Michael laughed in confusion.  
“Honestly, mate, I wanted to ask you the exact same thing.”  
“Begging your pardon?” James seemed really surprised by that and Michael hat to recall that his best friend was an extraordinary good actor.   
So he decided to address the issue directly.   
“What’s wrong with you? You’re avoiding me. You don’t even look at me properly and back during the conference you acted strange, too. What’s the matter with you?”  
James cursed mentally. He wasn’t drunk enough for that conversation.   
“I-“ He stopped and swallowed. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening his mouth. “I had to think about Shame a lot recently.”  
Michael frowned and cocked his head. James didn’t make any sense in the last couple of minutes. James interpreted Michael’s silence as a request to continue.  
“It is a brilliant movie, don’t get me wrong, it’s just hard to process. There are a few very powerful and haunting scenes.”  
James locked eyes with him and blue met grey in a dark hallway of an old English pub.   
“Are you talking about me being naked?”   
Michael had to hold himself back from bursting into laughter and James scratched the back of his head awkwardly.   
“Probably?” It was more a question than a statement, really. “I mean, it honestly looked… you looked… Never mind.”  
James wanted to pass by Michael, but the Irishman stretched out a hand and stopped him.   
“James, seriously, what’s on your mind? You know, you can talk to me about everything, don’t you?” And all of a sudden there were his best friend’s lips on his. James himself couldn’t possibly explain how or why or when he decided to kiss Michael, but apparently he had made the decision, because his lips laid on Michael’s, touching smooth skin. James recoiled in fear as if he just burnt himself on the stove – And his lips were hot as a matter of fact.   
Michael stared at him with his mouth wide open and without blinking for a couple of seconds before he stammered. “You… did… you… what?” Wow, congrats, Fassbender, he thought to himself, very eloquent. He couldn’t phrase one goddamn thought in his mind.  
James looked at him equally surprised, lips slightly parted and Michael just stared. He just stared at these lips that had just grazed his own.   
“I’m sorry.” James murmured and wanted to leave again – and again Michael stopped him.   
“Where do you think you’re going?” He growled and swallowed.   
“Look, Michael, I really shouldn’t have done that. It was a crazy idea.”

Michael laughed at that and ran a hand through his hair.   
He licked his lips and stared into James’s bluer than blue eyes.   
Somewhere in his brain a fuse was blown.   
“I guess we’re both crazy then.” He said, bent down a little and kissed James.   
This time it was a real kiss for Michael moved his lips a little, cupping James’s face cautiously with his hands in case James would want to withdraw again, but he didn’t – quite the contrary for James leaned into Michael’s touch and a small noise escaped his lips that sounded perilously like a moan.   
James’s lips parted automatically and Michael deepened the kiss, ran a hand through dark hair.   
As their tongues touched James stiffened just a little bit before he assumed control in the most admirably way: He bit Michael’s lower lip and used his distraction to shove him towards the wall and pin him against cold stone with one hand, while the other pulled at his hair.   
Michael followed the movement, stopped himself from hissing in pain and tilted back his head, while James kissed and bit his way over his chin and jaw-bone to his neck.   
“James…” Michael breathed against dark waves that tickled his nose. “James, wait for a second, please.” James rubbed himself against Michael’s upper body, who let out a strained moan.   
“Jesus Christ!” He cursed, grabbed James by his shoulders and shoved him through the slightly opened door inside the bathroom. James stumbled backwards against the wooden cabin door and a challenging grin displayed on his reddened and swollen lips.   
The sight was nearly overwhelming for Michael’s current state of mind.   
“You cheeky bastard.” He scoffed, grabbing James by his ruffled hair and smacked their lips together again. God that felt unbelievably good.   
He licked over his lips, bit into his tongue and scratched over the sensitive skin in James’s neck, causing the slightly smaller man to wince.   
Michael knew that they shouldn’t do this, that it was wrong in so many ways and would cause a lot of trouble, but James bit into his collarbone and pushed disturbing fabric aside to reach skin, more skin. Every thought was drowned in raw hands and dark sighs.  
James drew a wet track over Irish-pale skin and a few carelessly scattered freckles.   
“God! For weeks I’ve imagined what this patch of skin would taste like.” James’s voice was hoarse and dark and sent heat like flashes of lightning into Michael’s crotch.   
“And?” He swallowed around James’s mouth. “Does it deliver what it promises?”   
“Exactly like it says on the tin.” Michael’s laughter was dark and sheepish and segued into a moan as James opened his belt and curious and hot fingers searched for bare skin.   
“What are you doing?” Michael asked gasping and closed his eyes as James knelt in front of him and kissed hot skin. “Fuck, James…” Michael moaned, tightening his grip in dark hair and restraining himself from moving his hips. Then James closed his lips around Michael’s throbbing erection and the Irishman nearly stumbled over. The whole situation and James – real James, kneeling in front of him, driving him insane with his horrendous talented tongue – was so overwhelmingly hot, that Michael almost came after a couple of minutes – without being physically able to warn James – and in any other situation he would probably be embarrassed about that, but… James hopped to his feet and looked at Michael, who just stood there barely able to control his wobbling legs and panting as if he’s just run a marathon.   
James grinned like a cat in front of a huge bowl of cream – Michael leered at that thought.   
He kissed James, let his tongue trace over swollen and delicious lips (that tasted like him a little bit) and wanted to reach out for James’s belt, as the Scotsman squirmed out of his touch.   
“Later…” He murmured and Michael blinked in shock.  
“What do you mean by… I want to-“ “Later!”   
With that and a short look into the mirror James disappeared behind the bathroom door, leaving behind a ridiculously aroused and at the same extant shocked Michael.   
“You Scottish bastard! Come the fuck back here!” He called after James, whose laughter echoed through the hallway.   
Michael looked down at himself and cursed, as he followed through with what James had so demonically neglected. He came with James’s name on his lips, cleaned himself and left the cabin – still pissed and out for revenge. His image in the mirror grinned at him like a lunatic nevertheless and he tried to tame his hair and cleaned his face with splashes of water from the sink.   
After that he returned to their table and was met by an innocently smiling James, a slightly guessing glance from Hugh and Jennifer’s broad grin.   
As he passed James he patted his back and plumped down on his chair. He took a large sip from his gin tonic and locked eyes with James across the table.   
“Whoa.” Jennifer exclaimed. “Guys, I can literally see the sexual tension. Sure you don’t want to head back to the hotel?”  
Michael presented his most innocent and kindest smile before lifting the tumbler to his lips again, well aware of James’s curious eyes.  
“Yes, I’m completely sure, thanks.”  
He looked at James, smirked at him and licked his lips deliberately slowly. Everything that Scotsman can do, he could do better. 

By the time they made it back to the hotel Michael was completely out of it and admittedly infuriated with James. That idiot spent the whole evening smiling and talking and laughing and Michael just stared at him for most of the time – which went completely unnoticed by the Scotsman.   
In the minute they entered the lift and where finally alone – the other’s rooms were on a different floor – he shoved James against the steel wall of the lift and pulled his hair back to look him in the eyes.  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled and met a frisky, sexy and leering smile, which made Michael swallow hard.   
“What do you mean, mate? I’m not doing anything.”   
“That is exactly my problem. Mate.” Michael stressed the last word on purpose and squinted his eyes at James, who still smiled in that unbelievably cheeky way.   
“You. Me. My room. Now.” Michael hissed and left the lift, as soon as it came to a hold on their floor. James followed him with light and inaudible steps on the thick carpet.   
Michael unlocked the door to his room, pulled James inside at the collar of his shirt and kicked the door shut with his foot, while his hands were already racing over James’s upper body.   
Their kiss was frantic and passionate and far more than Michael thought he could handle in this moment. He pushed James towards the king sized bed dominating the left side of the room.   
He slipped off the white shirt from James’s shoulders just to touch every new won inch of bare skin – and all that freckles.  
James moaned as Michael bit into his ear and let his tongue graze over sensitive skin.   
“Bed.” James murmured against Michael’s lips and James unbuckled his jeans before Michael could even ask him to do so – or do it himself.  
They both knew they should talk about this, get a few things straight before anything happened, but Michael knew that if he wasn’t to touch James within the next few seconds he would most likely burst.   
He swooped down on James as soon as his back touched white and cool sheets and pinned him down with the weight of his body. He’s lost his shirt at some point. James ran his hand over Michaels back, sucked at his lower lip and every muscle went tense, when Michael slipped his hand under James’s waistband.   
“Shit, Michael.” James hissed as Irish hands touched hot naked skin.   
“I want you. Naked.” Michael breathed against James’s collarbone and licked over spread freckles on the pale skin of James’s sides.   
In less than a minute James was completely naked, fingernails dug into Michael’s back, whose strokes on his throbbing erection became more passionate, faster and harder.   
James moaned, threw his head back and closed his eyes.   
“No.” Michael growled. “No, James, look at me. I want you to look into my eyes when you come.”  
James shivered and struggled, but did as he was told – which aroused Michael even more. A James McAvoy that followed orders was a first and incredibly hot at the same time.   
Michael pulled down his jeans with one hand and positioned himself between James’s legs, who stiffened immediately.   
“Michael, wait, I-“ “I know. Don’t worry, I’m not doing anything that might hurt you. Let me just try something, will you?”  
James nodded, rubbed his face with one hand and the other one dug into the rumbled sheets, as Michael’s cock touched his and the Irishman closed his hand around both at once.   
James sat up and gasped in surprise as Michael started to move his hand.  
“Oh my God!” James moaned and Michael couldn’t help the grin that spread over his lips. This was just perfect. James’s eyes were dark and tiny droplets of sweat shone on his forehead. His cheeks were reddened and every time James swallowed Michael could see his Adam’s apple bounce under hot skin.  
He stretched out a hand and cupped James’s face with the spare hand that wasn’t occupied doing something far more important.   
“Come for me, James.” He murmured and stared into cobalt blue eyes that darkened even more as a tremendous orgasm ran over James and the Scotsman tore at silky sheets and cursed loudly.   
Michael couldn’t hold back his own Climax and came with a dark moan. 

 

They just sat there, still panting and with fast pounding hearts.   
Michael cleaned only the bare necessities and avoided to look at James.   
His hands were shaking like leaves and he could hear the blood pumping in his veins.   
James buttoned up his jeans, but left the belt open and the view made Michael clear his throat.   
He turned his back at his best friend and ruffled his hair.   
What did he just do? Why did he do that?!   
James got up from the bed, stumbled for a second and found his balance, before he came over to Michael, who still stood like rooted in the middle of the room – completely naked because he wasn’t able to think of anything at all, his brain was filled with white noise and deafening static.   
James grazed his shoulder and Michael startled a little.  
“Are you alright?” James sounded – happy. He really sounded more than okay and when Michael turned around he saw a content smile on reddened lips. That view confused him even more.   
“Are you?” He gave back the question with a forced smile.  
James laughed at that and licked his lips.  
“More than that. I’m fantastic.” Michael swallowed and stared at James in confusion. “Now I definitely know that there weren’t any prostheses involved in Shame.”  
Michael snorted at that and couldn’t help but laugh and sniffle at the same time. James seemed proud to have the happy Irish shark back because he nudged his shoulder.  
“You should put some clothes on, though. It’s not that warm in here.”  
James’s smirk was so mischievous and dirty that Michael felt himself blushing, before he scanned the room for his jeans.   
James in the meantime rummaged through Michael’s nightstand in search for a pack of cigarettes.  
“Is it true that George fucking Clooney asked you the same question once?”  
Michael buttoned up his jeans and made a confused sound.  
“Which question are we talking about again?”  
“Whether you were really naked in the scenes or you’ve had to wear some kind of jumpsuit or anything.”  
Michael laughed wholeheartedly while picking up his rumpled shirt from the floor.   
“Yes, he asked me that once via twitter. That was admittedly strange, I have to say.”  
James laughed at that, found the smokes and opened the balcony door.   
“Fancy a cigarette?” He presented the pack and Michael squinted his eyes before taking one.   
He didn’t expect it to be that easy. James grinned at him, ruffled his hair and led their way into the chilly autumn night, while lighting his cigarette. James passed the lighter to Michael and their hands touched. Instead of flinching or feeling in general awkward James winked at him and he smirked.  
“And I can confirm another saying.” James said and Michael lifted his eyebrows questioningly.  
“Which one?”  
James let escape smoke from his slightly parted lips. He leaned against the cold facade, while twirling the cigarette in his fingers.   
“There really isn’t much more fun you can get than a ginger.” Michael’s laughter echoed through the dark and empty hotel park. 

 

Michael woke up the next morning because his arm itched uncomfortably.   
It felt like a huge count of ants would crawl over his skin. He opened one eye and lifted his head a little just to let it sink into the pillow again. He had a terrible headache. He untangled his right arm from the blanket and propped himself up. He stared confused at the body next to him.   
James was sound asleep and Michael rubbed his face. He’d forgotten to close the curtains last night and bright cruel sunlight flooded the room. Michael squinted his eyes and yawned.   
He was starting to remember what had happened last night and he frowned even more.   
A look downwards revealed that he wore his jeans at least. His foot touched an empty bottle of gin as he sat up in bed.   
Shower, now, he thought and plodded into the bathroom. The warm water helped to gather his thoughts.   
They’ve talked a lot last night, about everything – except about what was going on between them. Michael’s mixed martinis and gin tonics for them and they’ve smoked the whole pack of cigarettes. Michael massaged his tense shoulder and sighed under the hot stream of water. His hands were still shaking and he couldn’t tell if it was the hangover or something else that caused his uneasiness.   
He closed his eyes and he could see James behind his lids. James smiling sleepily at him and leaning against his shoulder while they were watching one of David Attenborough’s nature documentaries about the tropical rainforest. He couldn’t recall when they fell asleep and it wasn’t in any way special for they’ve often slept on each other’s couches after a long night out – but it was special though because they’ve never had sex before.   
Michael rubbed his face and cursed. The thought of James digging his nails into his back, grinning mischievously at him and moaning his name had a very clear effect on his body. Michael just shook his head and turned off the water. He honestly was afraid that he won’t be able to look at James the way he did before everything that’s happened yesterday. He was afraid of losing their friendship. 

A few minutes later he re-entered the room and found James still sleeping in bed.   
He dressed quickly and his hand was already laying on the doorknob as he turned around and looked at James who still hasn’t moved yet.   
He asked himself whether he should write a note for him or just leave like that.   
Michael bit his lip and shook his head. Don’t over-complicate things, Fassbender, he told himself and left the room.


	5. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> Another interlude for you all ;) 
> 
> What do you think?

Interlude Part II 2012-2013

 

Dear James,  
I’m sorry I had to leave so early that morning.   
I went for a walk and wanted to bring you coffee (I even remembered the cinnamon syrup!), but my agent called and reminded me of another project I had to finish first.   
It is Steve’s 12 years a slave, you know how much I love that man’s art!   
Somehow they fucked up their shooting schedule, so I’ll have to take a flight out to Toronto right now in order to record my scenes.   
I am very sorry, James, especially for not having the chance to say goodbye to you.   
You were gone, when I came back, so I’ll just pack my suitcase and check out.   
I tried to call you, but you’re phone was dead. Hopefully you’ll get this letter from the receptionist.   
I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Unfortunately there isn’t a safe date yet.   
I hope, Bryan understands this. I’ll write him though, regarding some changes and stuff.   
I’m very sorry, James. I know we should talk about things... us… The timing is just awful…   
I hope I’ll be back soon before the preparations end. Otherwise we won’t see each other until 2013 for the actual shooting.   
... Wow, what a disturbing thought! 

I have to go, Sarah just sent me my ticket. See you soon, take care of yourself!  
Michael

 

Michael sealed the letter and put on his leather jacket, before he stood in the middle of the by now empty room and sighed. He saw the still rumbled sheets and nearly smelled James’s presence in the room.   
“Fuck!” He cursed and ruffled his hear before leaving the room.   
He couldn’t find the Scotsman anywhere and if he kept dawdling on his way to the airport, he’ll miss his flight. “That’s it!” He thought while waiting for the lift, which would take him downstairs. “I’ll just miss the flight and stay here with the others.” He knew he’s being ridiculous. Sarah would kill him! And he really didn’t want to disappoint Steve.   
He checked out in the foyer and left the hotel to enter the waiting cab, which would bring him to the airport.   
Michael leaned his head against the cold window and sighed while watching the traffic that passed him by in a rush.   
He tried to call James again, but like the last six times his best friend didn’t pick up his phone.   
Michael cursed and licked his lips. He could kick himself and not because it was his fault particularly but simply because the timing really couldn’t have been worse. 

 

 

Dear Michael,

To be honest I was really shocked about your disappearance. We must have missed each other by only a couple of minutes! I’m sorry to hear about the miserable schedule, too… What a bad organization… I hope, you get back here soon (I didn’t take many stamps with me… I mean, why would I?)   
I don’t think we’ve got a lot to talk about, serious matters anyway. We’re good, aren’t we? But if you really want to discuss it, we’ll do that of course. I like you so much and I don’t want you to feel in any way uncomfortable around me.   
Call me, when you get back to London and I’ll pick you up from the airport (Maybe have dinner?). And don’t you dare call this a date, Fassbender!   
I miss you, Michael. It’s strange without you. Although everyone is kind and cool, it’s not the same without you being here. I could tell you an anecdote though, if you wanted to? (I’ll do it anyway, Canada is far away and I don’t really have the patience to wait for your reply.)  
One evening we were all meeting up in Peter’s (Dinklage, GOT, you know him) room and had a few drinks.   
I tried to copy your martinis and failed miserably… I can hear you snorting, Michael, not nice! Anyway, we had a few drinks and someone (Jennifer) came up with the idea that we should drink some Sambuca’s, the flaming stuff.   
Long story short, Peter tripped, dropped the burning glass and set the carpet on fire.   
We managed to extinguish it with a blanket, so nobody got hurt, but still… I wish you could have seen this! There is a black hole in the carpet now and Jennifer’s scream was one for the books. It was hilarious!   
I hope you’re doing okay overseas and the conversion from science-fiction to historical drama isn’t too hard to manage. Although I don’t think it will affect your acting. You’ll be just fucking brilliant, Michael, as always.   
I’m going to bed now and mail the letter to you first thing in the morning.   
Love   
James

PS: I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I think about that night a lot. It’s funny that I only refer to it as “THAT night”… But yeah… Just wanted to let you know – and ask whether you feel the same? 

 

Dear James,

This movie breaks my nerves!   
Somehow Steve loves everything I’m doing on his screen, but right now I’m wallowing in self-pity, because I doubt everything I do and lose all my courage constantly before going on set. You don’t know that yet, but I play a very sadistic asshole, who does things I despite with all my heart.   
It’s all the more difficult to impersonate such a monster, when I’m unfocused… I even rented a bike and did a tour through the hills around the set.   
Canada’s beautiful in this time of the year.   
Brilliant coloured trees, icy nights and sunny days. The wind is nasty, though, bitter cold and cutting. Still it is indeed beautiful. I put a few pictures inside the envelope. Is there any matching beauty? (I mean, look at that frozen lake...) It would be better with you here, to be honest.   
We could have a true snowball fight or have some German “Glühwein”, if we found any. I know, you’d love it!   
I’ll write my aunt in Heidelberg to send me a box! And you could bring your collection of scarves along. I know how easily you get cold…   
Truth is, I think about “that” night far more often than I’d like to admit.  
I probably wouldn’t even be able to gather my courage to tell you this personally, but…   
You’re constantly on my mind.   
I can’t stop thinking about your hands on my body and your kisses and… God, I’m so sorry.   
I’m done here in a week, then I’ll fly back to London on Tuesday.   
Does your offer still stand? I’ll text you the hour. I’ve got to see you, James… 

Love  
Michael

 

 

Dear Michael,

Fuck me, what a week! I’m covered in work so high it reaches the fucking ceiling! Annie is pissed because she has so much stress coming up with the play, Brendan is pissed because he can’t go to kindergarten on holydays (Imagine that, Michael, my son actually LIKES pre-school… I must have done something wrong) and I am pissed because I can’t see you. I’m so, so sorry, mate, but I’m heading out to Glasgow tomorrow morning. I postponed the start of shooting Filth, but we really have to get started in order to keep the schedule together.   
I’m so pissed right now, I even yelled at Brendan… He’s in his room pouting and I’m really sorry for losing my temper but… I just miss you so much. I need someone to talk to. You. I’m sorry, I can’t pick you up from the airport, Michael – I really tried to make it.   
I sent you an extract of “Filth” by the way.   
Tell me, what you think about it. I thought you could need a little comfort – you’re not the only one playing an asshole this year. I’m tired, man. I mean, I’m looking forward to this project for it’s something else and takes place in my hometown and all, but I really am tired.   
This year went by in a rush! It’s November now and it snowed yesterday. I imagine autumn in Canada is way more beautiful than this muddy, cold and rainy piece of… Never mind.   
I hope you get home soon and can spend some time with your family.   
Are you going to visit your folks in Ireland or in Germany? Where do you like it better anyway? Not which country, I know you love being a leprechaun, but Christmas? Where do you like celebrating Christmas the most?   
I’d love to see Germany… It has some decent beer, the people are nice and the streets are clean. Maye you’ll take me with you some day?   
For now I’ll leave you to your Canadian moose’s and lakes and see, if I can tame that beast of my son.   
I miss you!

Love  
James 

 

 

Dear James

I’m finally home again – although I don’t even refer to it as home, it’s “London” or “the flat”. I don’t even know where home is, anymore. My mother calls me daily, just to check on me. I don’t know what’s going on with me recently, I’m restless and at the same time so fucking tired. I slept the last 26 hours, James. 26 hours! I’m sore and stiff now.   
Shouldn’t it be nice to come into your own home again? How do you feel about coming home after such a long time (It’s been almost three months for fuck’s sake. It’s a miracle that Jack II is still alive and kicking.)? Or let me ask the same question differently: How do you bear up against the homesickness? How do you do that regarding your marriage and Brendan and all that? 

I know I shouldn’t ask you that considering THAT night, but I need to know. Because I don’t feel homesick or torn apart or even affected by my own long absence from London. I guess I just feel sort of rooted up.   
I’ll spend Christmas in Germany for a change, see the old folks (my aunt, my uncle). Heidelberg in winter is nice. It’s a medieval town with an old castle up a hill and a brilliant equally old university.   
The riverbanks are worth a stroll and on the other side of said river lies a trail through the forest. I’ve never been there in the winter, to be honest, but I’ve seen the pictures my aunt’s sent my mother.   
Of course, I’ll take you there, if you want to, James, but this is an unrealistic fantasy, isn’t it? You can’t leave your son alone on Christmas, mate.   
I miss you… Call me, when you get this letter, will you? I want to talk to you for a while. I like your Scottish accent. It really shines through since you’re doing “Filth”. I’m really excited to see the movie by the way. It sounds dark and at the same time funny, although Robert really is an asshole.

Love,  
Michael

 

 

Two weeks later Michael flopped down on his couch and turned on the TV just to fill the silence in his empty flat. He took a sip from his bottle of beer and frowned as his phone vibrated in his jean's pockets. The second he read James's name on the screen, a broad smile crossed his lips.

James: Hey, love, what’re you up to?  
Michael: lying on the couch. Found some chips. You?  
James: You’re going to get fat.  
Michael: Certainly not!  
James: Fatbender!   
Michael: Don’t you dare… Are you just texting me to insult me? If so… Fuck off.  
James: That’s Hugh’s sentence, remember?  
Michael: How could I forget that? Where are you right now? Hotel?  
James: No, still on set. We need to do some reshoots and the weather’s been a bitch recently.  
Michael: Oh shit… How’re you holding up then?  
James: Rather bad, actually. There’s no coffee, I’m cold and I forgot my lighter at the hotel.  
Michael: No coffee AND no cigarettes? Wow, that’s admittedly terrible… Can’t you just borrow one?  
James: It seems like I’m the only one with this fucking habit. And I’ve already smoked the prop-cigs.   
Michael: That’s odd, I pity you, mate. Wait a second, it is past 2 a.m.! Jesus Christ! Why haven’t you wrapped it up for the day already?   
James: Because it’s snowing so heavily that we can’t continue, but we need this night to shoot the rest of the sequence, because it’s the last day with the cars and all. Shouldn’t have postponed everything, Scottish winters can be real fuckers.   
Michael: Oh, my… You have my deepest sympathy. That’s crazy.  
James: I’ll survive it… probably^^  
Michael: Not funny.  
James: Not joking.  
Michael: I’ll go to bed now, okay? I need some sleep, got an audition tomorrow. Text me, when you’ve finished the shoot, I’ll probably be awake by then. Night.  
James: Oh, okay… sleep tight, Michael.

 

Michael threw his phone on the couch and stormed into his bedroom.   
He regretted the lie already but he had good reasons. He packed some clothes into his still not completely empty suitcase.   
Then he collected everything he needed from his bathroom and ordered flight tickets online.   
There was no way he was going to sit here on his empty and lonely couch, while James was freezing is ass off in northern Scotland.  
He put on some shoes and a warm jacket and picked up his keys, before leaving his flat.   
And suddenly he could breathe again.   
He had a purpose again, a mission – and he would to his damn best to fulfil it.


	6. Past III - Chocolate (2012)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> Just in time for a new chapter ;) 
> 
> Have fun and leave comments/kudos, if you like it.   
> I had The 1975's Chocolate in mind while writing this chapter, I'm not really sure why but it reminds me of Michael and James^^

Past III

Four hours later Michael’s flight landed in Glasgow and he jumped into a cab. The sun had risen while he’s been waiting for his luggage and sleepy sunbeams crept over wide flat fields and buildings covered in fog. He knew a few places that could be used as filming locations and he was determined to try one by one to find James if it’s necessary. It turned out it wasn’t at all.   
The huge industrial quarter in South Glasgow was brightly lit by hundreds of floodlights illuminating a wide area filled with wrecked cars and piled up containers. The security worker at the entrance simply looked at Michael through the car window and nodded.   
It had some advantages being famous, Michael thought, and smirked. He was utterly tired and the short nap he took during the flight didn’t help either.   
His hands were shaking and he wrapped his leather jacket tighter around his upper body. It really was cold up in the north.   
The cab came to a hold and Michael paid the driver a generous tip, before he picked up his suitcase and faced the improvised trailers. Michael passed by a few workers and crew-members, but none of them took any notice of him.   
He spotted James sitting in a folding chair, one hand propping up his chin and seemingly a sleep.   
His hair looked terribly messy and even longer than it had been back in England. Michael approached him cautiously and dropped his belongings on the ground before kneeling in front of James.  
“James?” He murmured but didn’t receive an answer. James really fell asleep while sitting in a folding chair, people rushing by and screaming orders, and still having a fake injurie on his temple.   
Michael smiled softly. Sometimes James had more similarities with a cat than a human being. Only James had the special ability to sleep whenever and wherever he wanted to. He could sleep in crowded trains, noisy airports and on uncomfortable coaches on set. Michael admired him deeply for that.   
He laid a hand on James’s arm and patted cold fabric.  
“James? Mate, wake up.”  
James bolted upright and grumbled inaudible in his half-awake state. Then he spotted Michael and frowned, before turning his head and analysing his surroundings in confusion.  
Then his head spun back to Michael.  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He murmured and Michael scoffed in amusement.  
“You look like shit, mate.”  
“Fuck you.” James growled and wrapped himself up into the far too big jacket of his.   
Then he frowned and stared at Michael again, who still grinned like a lunatic.  
“Michael?!” Finally some kind of epiphany displayed on James’s features and a split second later the Scotsman was on his feet and launched himself at his best friend. Michael laughed wholeheartedly and wrapped his arms around James.   
“What are you doing here? I thought you’ve got an audition today? Wouldn’t that be in London? Or are you that unlucky that something went wrong with Macbeth and you’ve got to reshoot some scenes? I hope not, the last time you broke two toes…”   
“Would you please shut up?” Michael interrupted still chuckling and patted James’s back.  
“I was going stir-crazy at home. I had to stretch my legs.” James lifted his eyebrows and finally seemed fully awake.  
“You call a two hour flight in the middle of the night “stretching your legs”? What’s wrong with you?”   
Michael just shrugged and grinned. He felt way better now. Although James really looked like shit, dark bags under his eyes and pale – he couldn’t tell if it was make-up or actually the lack of sleep, though.   
“Have you been shooting all night long?” Michael asked in disbelieve. James scoffed in sarcasm and nodded.  
“Yeah, with very small breaks. It really sucks. But we’ll be done in half an hour probably.”  
“Fancy breakfast then?” Michael asked and licked his lips.   
“In between a shower and a few hours of sleep, definitely.”   
Michael smirked and nodded. James yawned like a dog, all wild hair and teeth and Michael couldn’t hold back the chuckle.   
“It’s so good to see you!” He said and nudged James’s shoulder, who smiled at him in appreciation.  
“It’s great to have you here.”   
Someone appeared by their side and talked to James for a second. To be honest, as hard as Michael tried to listen, he still couldn’t understand a word for the thick Scottish slur the man spoke. He watched James answer and smile politely. The guy disappeared again and Michael squinted his eyes at James.  
“I can’t believe that this was English…” James laughed at that and sniffled.  
“I’ll translate it than. I’ve got to go. It’s the last scene for today and it won’t take longer than half an hour.”  
“I’ll wait here.” Michael said immediately and James smiled at him nodding.  
“Okay, see you later.”  
Their hands brushed for a second, then James dashed off towards the set. Michael slumped into the chair, James had sat in and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding loudly and his hands were still a bit shaky. “Just the cold…”Michael thought for himself and tilted his head back to watch snowflakes dancing through the lightening sky. He didn’t feel that cold to be honest. He felt warm and safe – and home.

 

Two hours later they sat in a restaurant for a late breakfast.   
James looked like a puppy that tried very hard to stay awake. His hair was still wet and Michael found the longer strands distracting.   
“What?” James asked, coffee mug cradled in his hands.   
“Your hair…” Michael started and James rolled his eyes.  
“Don’t say anything, mate, I’m so glad when I can finally cut it all off.”  
Michael nearly swallowed orange juice the wrong way and cleared his throat.  
“You want to shave it off?” James shrugged nonchalantly.  
“I’ve got to do it anyway for X-Men or am I wrong? Have there been changes made, that I don’t know about?”  
Michael shook his head and grinned.  
“Can I shave it?” He’s spoken before he thought about it and bit his lip. James just laughed at that.  
“Sure. Won’t be the first time either. Do you remember that night in Dublin? I was so wasted and have apparently begged you to shave my head.”  
Michael laughed and bit into his marmite bread.   
“I remember that, because I almost cut your ear off.”   
James buried his head in his hands and laughed loudly. Only James could find the almost-incident of losing an ear amusing.   
It was so relaxing to just sit in this tiny, cheap restaurant, have a cup of good coffee and talk about everything and nothing with James.  
“So what’re you up to today?” asked James, munching on a cookie.   
“Ahm.” Michael replied sparsely intelligent. “I thought you’d wanted to sleep the whole day. I would definitely if I were you.”  
“Yeah, sounds good, but now we’re talking about me again. I wondered what you’d like to do today. You could take a tour through Glasgow or visit a few museums.”  
Michael shook his head.   
“I thought, I’d just come with you and read a script while you’re taking your well-deserved nap.”  
“You creep just want to stare at me while I’m asleep, admit it.”  
Michael chuckled and shook his head.  
“No, seriously. I’ve brought the bible with me and intended reading it again.”  
“Again?” James’s eyes widened. “You’ve already read it?”  
Michael cocked his head. It was true that they won’t start shooting X-Men this year, but he liked being prepared and “the bible, Part 2”, as the cast called the huge book in memory of Kevin Bacon including every comic of the franchise, was a great way to learn more about his character – even after the first movie.   
“Ah, yes?” It sounded more like a question than a statement really. “You didn’t I presume?”  
James scoffed and brushed back his hair, squinting at Michael.  
“No, not a word. I honestly didn’t find the time and the energy to do it. Annie’s currently a pain in the ass and Brendan is going through a difficult phase. I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t be.” Michael replied immediately. “It’s not your fault.” He had to hold back the urge of reaching out and touching James’s hand that rested calmly on the table top.  
“Let’s head back to the hotel and get some sleep.”  
Michael left a few bank notes on the table and dragged James outside.  
“What’s the hurry? Can’t wait to tuck me into bed, Fassbender?”  
Michael looked down at James and raised his eyebrows.  
“You look like shit, James, honestly. You need to sleep sometimes, you know that, don’t you?”  
“Did you just come to Scotland in the middle of the night to give me a lecture?”  
Michael chuckled softly and placed his hand on James’s back, leading their way down the pavement.   
“No, I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. You’ve got to take better care of yourself, mate.”  
James pouted a little and kept quiet. The sun had fully risen by now and covered the eastern Glasgow streets in bright and warm light. Michael closed his eyes and held his face into the sunbeams.   
They made it to the hotel James was staying at while shooting Filth and they took the lift upstairs. 

In James’s suite the Scotsman immediately fell into bed and Michael stood there laughing.  
“Alright, James. Don’t you want to change into more comfortable clothes or anything?”   
“You just want to watch me undress.”  
“Maybe?” The words escaped his mouth before Michael could rethink them and he sighed mentally. Clever, Fassbender, just stunning work.   
James on the other hand grinned at him mischievously and got up from the bed again.  
He approached Michael who still stood in the middle of the room like rooted.   
“I could do that. Apart from changing into different clothes.” He stared at Michael’s lips and licked his own. The Irishman swallowed. “I hoped, I wouldn’t need clothes at all.”  
Michael took a sharp intake of breath before leaning down and kissing James. He wrapped his arms around his colleague and simply held him, stroking his back and cautiously kissing his lips.   
And suddenly he knew that it was the right decision to come here. He needed to see James – he had to. Holding him, being with him and kissing him felt so right.   
Nevertheless he withdrew from the Scotsman and let his hand rest at the back of his neck.   
“Sleep, James, please.” James pouted again, but Michael was – partly – immune against James’s charm and pointed to the bed. “When you’re awake again, we’ll talk about what to do in the evening, I promise.”  
James nodded, plodded into the bathroom and returned two minutes later, wearing a grey shirt and black boxer shorts.   
Michael nodded in appreciation and sat down in the large wing chair by the window, while James collapsed into the bed and blinked at him.   
Michael tried to ignore him and concentrate on the weighty tome disguised as script – needless to say it didn’t work.  
“What?” Michael grumbled, looked up and met bright blue eyes in white sheets.   
“Are you sure, you want to stay so far away from me?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why is that? This bed is comparatively comfortable. I could share.”  
“Because if I came near that bed, comfortable as it may be, you wouldn’t waste much thought on sleeping, James.”   
“I’m not even tired.” Michael lifted his eyebrows.   
“Have you looked into a mirror recently? You look terrible.”  
“You’re being mean!”  
“You’re being childish!”   
Michael made a desperate gesture and cocked his head. James sat up in bed, pouting lips, ruffled hair and tremendous black shadows under his tired eyes.   
“You could read something to me.” He said and nodded at the book in Michael’s hands, who chuckled with amusement.  
“You want me to read “the bible” to you?”  
“I haven’t read them yet and my auditory memory is pretty good.”   
Michael sighed in surrender and rested his feet on the little table, before he leant back in the chair and opened the book and started reading.   
It wasn’t exactly interesting material he read aloud, but it kept him busy and after six pages James was sound asleep.   
Michael continued reading until it occurred to him that he wasn’t looking at the pages in his hands but at the Scotsman lying in bed.   
He smiled at James and closed the curtains, he’s left open in order to have enough light to read.   
Now the room was filled with darkness and Michael groped his way to the bed.   
He laid down next to James, carefully for he didn’t want to wake the Scot up, whose expression was one of pure relaxation and calmness. 

Michael smiled happily and closed his eyes. It really was a good idea to come here, he thought, before drifting off to sleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? 
> 
> Read you soon,
> 
> Charona


	7. Past IV - Thick as thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to you all, folks!   
> Thanks for the comments and kudos, best Christmas present ever :D 
> 
>  
> 
> I‘m SO excited to hear your oppions to this particular chapter! ;)

„I slept with my best friend.“  
“It happens to the best of us.”  
Tom sat on the couch, his dark eyes followed Michael who paced up and down his living room. Woody yawned and grunted and put one of his huge paws on Tom’s knee.   
“I slept with my best friend.” Michael stated again and ruffled his hair. “Fuck!”  
Tom scratched his beard and licked his lips.  
“Mate, sit down, please. You’re giving me whiplash.”   
Michael narrowed his eyes at his English colleague, but followed his command.  
“And besides that” Tom continued and patted Woody’s broad head. “Where’s the problem anyway? Should be a lucky girl.”  
Michael winced as if he was in pain and buried his head in his hands. All he wanted was a few days off and some time to think. A James-free place with James-free thoughts. So he called Hardy. He was one of his closest friends since their time at the set of Band of Brothers and he appreciated Tom’s immediately uttered invitation. Charlie was away doing a promo tour across Europe and when Michael stood in front of his door Tom just gestured him to come inside and even prepared a guest room for him upstairs. They’ve spent their first evening drinking and catching up with their lives. Now Michael was slightly hungover and after a night filled with very colourful and messy dreams including rumbled hotel sheets and James’s lips he needed someone to talk to.   
He cracked his knuckles and sniffled.  
“I slept with someone, who’s married. I can’t believe I actually did that!”   
“So, who is she?” asked Tom, lighting a cigarette and exhaling smoke.   
“It’s not a “she” either.” Michael said carefully, watching Tom and taking in every bit of his reaction. It contained nothing more than a small huff – not amusement, maybe not even surprise, Michael couldn’t read it – and a nonchalant shrug.   
Michael licked his lips, remembering that damned night in Glasgow over a month ago. He shouldn’t have done it, they should have talked about it first at least, but they simply didn’t. It sounded strange and mean and dumb, but it was as simple as that: They didn’t talk about it. James woke him up with his plan of staying in the hotel room, ordering Gin and food and spending the evening drinking and talking. The problem was, that they didn’t stick to that as consequently as Michael had thought. After the fourth Martini that Michael had mixed laughing and shoving James away from him because he didn’t want to reveal his secret masterpiece of a recipe, they’d kissed each other. And it escalated. They’ve had sex. For real this time and the memory sent shivers down his spine. As brilliant as it has been, and it really has been brilliant, Michael was eaten up by guilt the second he opened his eyes again, still buried inside James. He left soon after that with some phoney excuse and had spent the night roaming through the nocturnal Glasgow streets. They didn’t have any contact since. He didn’t receive a letter and didn’t intend to write one himself. What was he going to say anyway? I’m sorry? Too damn little.  
The Irishman swallowed and took a deep breath, but the second he opened his mouth, Tom scoffed.  
“It’s James, isn’t it?”  
That took Michael by complete surprise and he couldn’t do anything else than stare at Tom with his mouth wide open.   
“Wow…” Hardy laughed and chuckled. “Seriously? It took you to this long to end up in bed together?” Michael sat there with his mouth open and stared at Tom as if he’d grown horns – or a tail. This man was pure evil, Satan himself and Michael seriously questioned his decision to stay the next couple of days.   
“H-how…?” Michael asked and received one of those ominous grunts in return that made Tom Hardy such a phenomenal actor – and at the same time such a pain in the ass.   
“Married, male and the look on your face says enough, mate. It has to be James if it gets to you like this, someone you care about. So you had sex with James. So the fuck what?”   
Michael opened and shut his mouth like a fish and finally shook his head to stop the turmoil of thoughts and emotions in his mind.  
“I think you’re not fully aware of the seriousness of this situation, Tom.” He finally managed to answer. “I had sex with a man, my best friend. My married, male, best friend.”   
Tom still looked completely unimpressed, similar to his dog Woody who cradled himself in one corner of the huge beige couch.   
He offered Michael a cigarette and the Irishman took it. He needed something to do with his hands for they trailed off so easily and remembered James’s skin so well. He clenched his fingers to a fist and sniffled.   
“Seriously, Tom. How did you know it was James?” His head snapped towards Tom who grinned at him like a lunatic and sighed affectedly.   
“Do you really need an answer to that question? Michael, you and James are like this.” He crossed his two forefingers and shook his head laughing. “Since the first moment I met you two, I knew that there was something going on. You had a certain type of energy.”   
“Energy?” Michael raised his eyebrows and tried to calm his galloping heartbeat. He poured some whiskey into the halfway clean glass in front of him and downed the drink. It wasn’t even noon yet, but he really needed something for his nerves. And perhaps it would stop his headache. This conversation turned out to be far more awkward and uncomfortable than Michael had it expected to be.   
“So you knew? That James would kiss me in a dark hallway of an English pub? With Lawrence, Hoult, Bacon and Dinklage in the other room?”   
Tom shook his head smirking.  
“Not what I would have done to be honest, but sounds just like James.” Michael snorted and poured himself another drink before gesturing to Tom’s glass and filling some whiskey into it, too.  
“I never thought about it.”   
“What? Kissing me in a dark hallway of an English pub? Your loss.”   
Michael sent him a dirty look and took a sip from his glass.   
“That, too, but what I meant is… I never thought about James like this. It never occurred to me that he was more than my best friend.”  
“You’ve never been jealous or anything?”   
Michael frowned and tried to collect all memories along these lines but he couldn’t recall any. Then he suddenly laughed and Woody grunted in annoyance before hiding his snoot behind the fluffy cushions again.  
“Ross fucking McCall.” Michael scoffed grimly and Tom laughed wholeheartedly at the name of the Scottish actor who was part of the British Brigade almost tfifteen years ago.  
“I can’t believe you still remember his name!”  
“Never will I forget…” grunted Michael and rubbed his face. “This asshole…I still can’t watch “Green Street Elite” because of that idiot.”  
“He flirted with James.”  
“You call that still flirting? If he’s had his way, James would have been naked in that ditch, I swear to God! He was so after him, it was ridiculous, that no one noticed!”   
“Except you, of course.”  
There was something knowing and caring and a type of benevolence in Tom’s green-brown eyes that made Michael swallow his witty response.   
“I thought you two had a great relationship from the beginning. You just clicked. That’s why you are so brilliant on screen together. You complete and challenge and motivate each other. I’ve got someone like that, too, and I love every damn minute of working with Cillian.”  
“The Irishman?” Michael asked because this name sounded familiar.   
“Yes, and I really love that man. Sometimes we do a scene for Peaky and I’m not completely happy with it, but when I watch it later I see why it made it into the film. He is spectacular.”  
Watching Tom talking about Cillian Murphy and their working process and seeing the spark in his eyes and his compassion and happiness made Michael cock his head and squint his eyes.  
“You… and Cillian…?” he left the question unfinished and Tom blinked at him with big eyes, tumbler lifted to his mouth.  
“What? No… Not like you and James, anyway.”   
Michael commented that cryptic answer with a smirk.   
“All I’m trying to say is, that these relationships, these companionships on and off screen are so important.” Michael didn’t answer. He just stared at his hands and tried to process everything.   
“Besides from him being married, where’s the problem in being gay?” The sudden change of subject made Michael blink in confusion and he stammered a few words before he finally answered.  
“I’m simply not. So it’s not a problem, it’s just unusual.”  
There was a pause. Woody snored in his corner of the couch and Tom patted the dog’s flanks absentmindedly while turning the glass in his hand and staring daggers into the floor. It occurred to Michael that Tom was the right person to come to in this situation. Not that he had many options to be honest, but he thought about one or two other people in London. Steve McQueen or Dominic West for example, but he ended up here and watched Tom collecting his thoughts and letting him know them in his typical charismatic, open minded way.   
“Did you know that in ancient Greek being homosexual was highly appreciated?”  
Michael took a drag from his cigarette and watched Tom’s hands gesture through the air filled with smoke and the smell of beer and takeaway pizza’s.   
“For them being gay meant to compete with another man. It wasn’t all about dominance, it was more about the image of two physically and mentally strong parties in one house and one relationship. Being gay meant being strong and independent and attractive enough to be appealing to your own sex. They were on eye level with each other and that’s why it was looked at as respectable and courageous.”   
“Yes, but the thing is, I never was attracted to men. Never.”  
“But to James you are?”  
Michael couldn’t stop himself from blushing. For being such a good actor Tom had the effect on him, that he lost everything he ever learned in drama school. It was this piercing glance, the calmness that could change into brutal violence in a split second and at the same time it was so reassuring and trustworthy that Michael opened up completely to those warm eyes and calmly spoken words.   
“James is… I don’t really have the right words for it. He is such a loving and caring person. So funny and mischievous and dirty minded. But that is just a façade or probably the first layer of his personality.” Michael licked his lips and smirked a half sided smirk. “We’ve both been working in this industry for a while now, Tom, you know how rare the people are, that are not just pretty faces and a huge amount of money in their bank.”  
Tom nodded in approval.   
“And James is so much more than that. I’m so glad to call him my friend. He brings my better characteristics to light – regarding my acting and my life choices.”  
“Sounds like you’ve found your Charlotte. Everything you just said reminds me of what Charlie is to me. My counsellor, my best mate, the love of my live. She makes me a better man.”  
Michael smiled at that. Tom deserved to be happy.  
“So you love him?”   
Michael choked at that and coughed.   
“No.” He shook his head violently. “No, definitely not. I love him like he’s my brother, I really do.”  
“You shouldn’t sleep with your brother.”   
Tom interrupted with a deadly voice and Michael had to stop himself from throwing punches – he had a chance against Hardy, even if it wasn’t a promising one.   
“You know what I mean.”   
“No, I don’t. And obviously you’ve got no idea either.”   
Michael wanted to say something but didn’t know what and closed his mouth again.  
Tom laughed and heaved himself up with a sigh.   
“I’m going to order us some food. Chinese?”   
Michael leaned back in the fluffy cushion and watched Tom rummaging through takeaway advertisements.   
“I’ll cook.” Michael said in his most generous mood.   
Tom grinned at him like a combat dog and Michael rolled his eyes.  
“But under one condition. Help me with that James-thing!”   
Tom’s laugh echoed through the hallway and he came back with two bottles of beer.   
“No, mate, I’m sorry, but that is your distinguished affair – in the truest sense of the word.”  
The grey cushion Michael threw at Tom hit only the doorframe because Tom’s fast reflexes made him duck away fast enough – still laughing.

A few hours later Michael’s phone vibrated and Michael rummaged through the chaos of cushions they’ve produced during their hard Tekken-fights on Tom’s PS4. He blinked at the screen slightly drunk from a few pints of beer and swallowed as he read James’s name.   
“I see, you’ve got a new friend. Always knew you’re a dog person.”  
Michael nudged Tom on the shoulder, who sat on the soft carpet in front of the couch, and showed him the text.  
“He misses you.” Hardy grumbled, throwing his controller on the couch absentmindedly, almost certain, that they won’t play another round with Michael being distracted like that. He got up to search for something harder to drink.  
Michael looked at his phone and cocked his head. He’d taken Woody for a walk this afternoon, to clear his head and give Tom the opportunity to call Charlie. The dog was a great companion, curious, well-bread and calm. He’d watched Woody chase around brown leaves and fetch sticks that where half his seize. He smiled at the memory and unlocked his phone again, staring at the picture of Woody with a stick in his mouth, he’d taken in a park and used as a status-update on WhatsApp. After a short while he answered.  
“I like Woody. He reminds me of myself sometimes.” He typed and sent before second-guessing himself. James came online and Michael swallowed and ruffled his hair. His eyes met the clock on the screen. He frowned for it was past 1 a.m.   
“What are you still doing up?” He asked, cutting James off, who just started typing and stopped again. Michael bit his lip. It reminded him of a phone call, he received from James last year – what felt like ages ago. The X-Men premiere. “What are you doing up so early, mate?” He’d said to James on the other end of the line, who’d called him because Brendan had driven him mad.   
A sad smile crept over his face, before he looked at his phone again. James’s answered.  
“Thinking.”   
Michael sighed and his fingers hovered over the letters as if unsure whether to follow his command or to act on their own.   
“About what?”   
The Irishman held his breath until the answer appeared.   
“You. Mostly. Everything.”  
This made Michael chuckle silently. That’s what a confused James sounded like.   
“Do you want to talk about it? With me?”  
“I can think of nothing else but you and what we did and that you went away and that I have no fucking clue what to make of all of this. You are a riddle to me, Michael.”  
Michael scoffed at that, crossing his legs on the cosy couch.   
“I’m a riddle to you?! I think there’s no one in the whole world who understands me better than you do, James.”  
“You know what I mean...” Michael rubbed his face and sniffled. He actually did, somehow.  
“You’re married…” He regretted writing it the second he sent the text.   
“I know.” James replied and kept typing. “I love her.”   
It shouldn’t, but Michael felt the tear in his heart and he locked the phone. Images flooded his mind. James kissing him and staring at him in surprise afterwards. James sleeping in his bed, messy hair covering rumbled pillows. James simply laughing at him with a coffee mug and a cigarette in one hand, the other holding his stomach, head tilted back in laughter about something Michael’s just said. He felt tears burning behind his closed eye lids. He opened his eyes and licked his lips, turning his phone around and huffing in surprise over James’s many new messages.  
“But you’re so important to me, Michael. It wasn’t a mistake. Not for me.”  
“Michael, I’m serious, I want you. There’s something between you and me, that was there since the day we first met, the day I thought you were an American and asked for a smoke.”   
“I can’t name it, but we have something.”  
“Michael?”  
“Yes?”   
It took James a few moments to reply. He sounded cautious and almost scared.  
“What do you think?”  
Michael took a deep breath and wished they would have this conversation in person and not in a virtual chatroom. But he knew as well that it wasn’t the right moment to tell James that.  
“I think, you should tell Annie what happened.”   
He closed his eyes and a small tear rolled over his cheek. Everything, every last muscle in his body wanted to take back the last sentence, wanted to hate himself for being so selfless and care so much about the woman he hadn’t lost a single thought about while he screwed her husband, his own best friend.   
Michael had to restrain himself from smashing his phone against the nearest wall.   
“I won’t tell her.” The vibrating smartphone caught his attention and Michael blinked at the simple four words.   
“Why?” Somehow the last pint of beer had taken away any control over his fingers, like he was just a guest, a visitor in his own body.  
“Because I can’t, Michael. At least not yet, not like this and without a strategy. She’ll leave me.” And she’ll take Brendan with her. James didn’t say that and he didn’t have to. Michael knew nevertheless. He bit his lip and thought about his options. Should he push James? Urge him to tell her the truth? Or counsel him to stay silent and wait? But for what? The longer he waited the worse it’ll get, won’t it?   
“What do you want to do?” He finally managed to ask. It took James a few minutes to answer and Michael pictured his best friend laying on to the couch, long legs crossed and an arm behind his head. It made him smile.   
“I want you.”   
Michael swallowed and suppressed the slight tremble in his fingers. He remembered that night so well.   
“How?” Michael asked and leant back into the cushions. He searched for his glass. He needed something to drink. As if summoned, Tom reappeared in the doorframe of his living room, tequila bottle and glasses in his hands. They took a shot and James’s written a new message.   
“Naked in my bed?”   
Michael seriously wasn’t a man for blushing. He didn’t blush easily and it had helped him in a lot of quite difficult situations throughout his career. Crossdressing, being naked, laying in bed with Penélope Cruz and kissing a man. But now he turned bright red and Tom instantly mocked him.  
“Jesus, I know that look on your face. I’ll leave you to your lover, mate.”  
“Leave me the bottle.” Michael growled and Tom vanished, his laughter reverberating through the hallway.   
Michael chuckled at that and poured himself another shot of tequila before answering.   
“I’m serious.” He texted. “What do you want from me?”  
“I don’t know yet. But I’m going to figure it out, I promise. I just need to clear my head.”   
“You’re asking for distance, aren’t you?” Michael sighed and looked at the tequila bottle as if it contained the answers to all the questions in the whole universe. Of course it didn’t.   
James seemed to think about that question for a while and finally replied.  
“I guess so. But I’m not saying, that I don’t want to see you, Michael, because I want to. I really do. I just don’t want to rush something.”  
Something. What an interesting choice of words.  
“So we’ll stick with the letters then?” Michael asked, swallowing around the huge lump in his throat.  
“Yeah, I think, that would help... for a while. We’ll see each other at the latest in February, right?”

Michael didn’t answer, but put away his phone and downed another drink. He glanced out of the window and saw snowflakes dancing in the icy night. He felt like crying, asking James where he was and driving through the cold to get to him and see him – simply see him! He wiped his face and licked his lips, still watching little white droplets of half frozen water in front of the huge window.   
Maybe he should have handled the situation differently. Maybe he should have confronted James with his feelings for him, but Tom was right. He had no clue how he felt about James. Was it love? Certainly, in some ways. He’s known this man for over fifteen years now and he referred to him as his best friend and counsellor and anchor and soulmate. But love? The other love? Michael wasn’t a light hearted person, he never made decisions according to his instincts. He was a rationalist and a realist, a combination that’s saved him from seriously bad life choices. The last time he followed his instincts was when he moved to London back in the 90s. And he’s had some really bad times since then: working shitty jobs, coming home in the morning after horrendously long shifts behind bar counters and auditioning for terrible movies. But James… James was different and if his best friend needed time, he would wait. He would sit it out and wait for James to clear his head and his heart.   
His hands trembled like leaves in the bitter cold wind outside. He calmed them by gripping the half empty glass a bit tighter. James’s heart wasn’t easy to move, he knew that. Despite his reputation, James was a very serious guy, who would stick to his family – no matter what. And besides all that, Michael didn’t find the idea of being the secret affair, the hidden lover very appealing. It might be hot and mischievous and dirty, but in the long term? It was hard work and infidelity was something he himself despised with all his heart. The more he thought about it, the more he could understand James’s dilemma.   
“Fuck…” He hissed to himself and took a shaky breath. He missed James already. The uncertainty would sooner or later drive him crazy, he knew that.   
He closed his eyes and sniffled. It really was about to become a miserable Christmas and New Year’s Eve…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think? 
> 
>  
> 
> Read you soon, 
> 
> Charona


	8. Interlude III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am again, folks!
> 
> Oh, and a happy and content and success new year to all of you!

Interlude III – 2013-2014

Dear Michael, 

I miss you. 

I’m sorry, but I needed to say this. You’re such a huge part of my life that your absence has taken an immense chunk of it with it. I don’t mean that as an accusation, mate, just something I need to get off my chest. I know that I chose it to be that way. Still… You’re the one I want to call after a long day at the studio or tell the latest cheeky joke that popped into my mind. I miss you.  
I’m in the middle of the annual chaos that is Christmas in my family. We’re going to visit the old folks in Glasgow for a couple of days. I’ve got to be back early in 2014 because of “The disappearance of Eleanor Rigby”. We started filming this week, but there is still a lot to do, because it has different parts. To be honest, it’s exhausting because of Jessica. She’s a brilliant actress, don’t get me wrong, but she’s kind of arrogant and very distant.   
I don’t know how I’m going to handle the scenes with her, but I’ll figure it out. The extract in the envelope is one of my favorite parts in the whole script. It’s the part right before Conor cheats on his wife… It’s a complicated movie, I think, many different plots and there is a lot going on in the background of it all.   
We’ll see how it plays out on screen. Maybe I’m taking away a bit now, but the family suffers from a very bad tragedy and… as a father it’s quite hard to portrait Conor, who loses so much and fights for his marriage. It’s… just hard. Please tell me, what you think of the script!   
I heard you’re nominated for an Academy Award, Michael! Congratulations, mate, I’m so, so happy for you! 12 years a slave is one of my favorite movies of all time, you know that. I already sent Steve a text and told him the same. He is an artist and the two of you together have the ability to create something really special, Michael. Please enjoy the night with your friends and allow yourself to celebrate your success – it’s well deserved.   
I’m looking forward to seeing you for the press tour for DOFP. It’s going to be great to be with the gang again. I miss my bruises from the punching game, to be honest. Annie is more relaxed now. Most of her plays went really good this year and a lot of pressure is gone now. She spends more time at home now and I think we’re on the up and up – momentarily. You know Annie, she can be quite moody and I can be a pain in the ass, too.   
I watched “The counselor” by the way. Your character was really cool, it suited you perfectly well. Except the cursing – you don’t curse much. Is rolling around in bed with Penélope Cruz really as appealing as I imagine it to be? You lucky bastard! It was hot though… I don’t really get the negative critics, but probably they didn’t get it – as usual. I honestly cried in the end, Michael, and I really wanted to hug you… What a cruel spiral of greed and loss and fear and violence. Ridley is a genius!   
Hopefully you’ll have the chance to do something more positive, though. I know how much these roles reflect on your mood and I really don’t want you to get hurt…   
I’ve got to go now, Michael, and pack my last bag for Christmas.   
Brendan sent you a picture of the Christmas tree, because you can’t be here with us. When are you heading out to Germany, my friend? This weekend or are you still buried in work?   
Please write me, Michael, I miss you.  
Love,  
James

 

Dear James, 

I’m sorry, I couldn’t get in touch with you any sooner, but I’m very glad you did. The counselor had its premiere, as you know (thanks for your kind words, James, finally some positive critic about it…), and I had to do some press tours afterwards, which were quite disillusioning as you can imagine. “Frank” is finally wrapped and I’m taking a few days off to spend some time in Heidelberg with my parents and friends. You remember Daniel Brühl? From Inglorious bastards? We’ll meet for a New Year’s Eve party in Munich. It’s going to be fun, but to be honest I’d rather be with you… I miss you, too, mate. I’m counting the days until April. We’re going to celebrate our Birthdays together, right? I don’t know yet where we’ll be at that time, but we’ll make it big anyway.   
Please tell Brendan, I love the Christmas tree he’s drawn for me, I like the star at the top the best, very symmetric for a five year old! I conclude from the huge boxes he’s drawn underneath the tree, that you’re going to bestow a lot of gifts to your son, mate. Have fun doing so, James, I wish I could see you all again. I’m so glad to hear, that you and Annie are getting along better by now. I know, how much you love her.   
I miss you very much, though, although I probably shouldn’t tell you this.   
I’m just selfish, I guess…   
I’m heading out to Germany this weekend, so your letter reached me just in time. Actually, I’m packing my suitcase right now – simultaneously so to speak, so please excuse me for jumping from one topic to another or seem generally confused.   
My flight takes off in the early evening and I still need to wrap up every single bloody present!   
Nevertheless, I’ll take a moment to write this letter properly, because it’s been such a long time, since we had any contact, you and I…   
“The disappearance of Eleanor Rigby” sounds interesting, demanding in some ways. I’ve never worked with Jessica, but I’ve heard she’s difficult… The script seems to very well thought through. I like the story and the amount of time it gives the plot to develop itself. I like that way of telling a story, because it gives you some space as an actor to convey important feelings and moods, before the audience is focused on the plot.   
I’m already looking forward to it.   
We’ll see each other in April, my friend! Probably I’ve got some golden friend with me by then ;) 

Love,  
Michael

 

James stood on the balcony of their bedroom and smoked a cigarette. He exhaled cold smoke into the even colder night.   
For it being March it was still freezing cold outside, winter’s frozen fingers were still holding London in its tight and icy grip.   
James’s gaze wandered off towards the wide corners of the already sleepy capital of England, his chosen home. Streetlights illuminated the dark and very few pedestrians made their way home through slowly sinking snow. Behind him on the TV the Academy Awards started with applause and James closed his eyes. Of course he would have wanted to be there. The last year hadn’t been that good for him, but he still would have enjoyed being on the red carpet. Some of his friends were there. Jennifer, Nicholas, Angelina, Michael.   
He swallowed and took another drag from his cigarette. He kept his fingers crossed for Michael. He deserved this Oscar so damn much. But it was a keen competition this year and there were many talented colleagues.   
Ellen DeGeneres’s opening monologue made him chuckle and he stood there laughing with his back against the balcony rails and smoking another cigarette. The camera focused on Michael for a brief moment and James just stared. Michael clapped, looking proudly like a big brother at Lupita, who sat in front of him, wearing a beautiful dress.   
But it wasn’t the actress James stared at, it was Michael. He looked good, of course, stunning, but there was something in his eyes that made James swallow drily. It was just a second, but James couldn’t shake the feeling, that Michael looked kind of alone, lost, empty. It wasn’t that bad, but James’s known the Irishman for fifteen years now and could even discover the smallest differences in his appearance.   
The moment was over too quickly for James to think about it any longer and the official Award ceremony started. He fiddled absentmindedly with the cufflinks of his white shirt under his smoking, while listening to the first categories.

Annie entered the bedroom, dressed in a beautiful dark blue gown and rummaged through the sideboard by the bed. James chuckled, stumped out his cigarette and went inside.   
“I got it.” He said to his wife and let the golden necklace slide through his fingers.   
“You’re a genius, thank you.” Annie sighed and James chuckled again. Sometimes Annie would lose her own head if it weren’t stripped on her. He loved that about her, her foolishness and lighthearted soul. It added perfectly well to his own.   
He gestured her to turn around and closed the lock of the delicate necklace behind her neck, pressing a gentle kiss on her naked shoulder.  
“You look stunning.”  
“Same to you, mister.”   
James grinned proudly and led their way out of the bedroom, ready for their anniversary dinner.   
He turned off the TV and accompanied his wife on her way downstairs. 

 

Two hours later James laid on the bed, bow tie loosened and shoes carelessly taken off on his way to the TV. A few categories were left and he was determined to see them all. Annie had shown great understanding when she’d ordered dessert early and winked at him.   
“I know, Michael’s in LA tonight. Let’s go home soon.”   
James felt a huge wave of adoration for her wash over him and he’d taken her hand, smiling at her.   
“Thank you, Annie.”  
“Not for that, Love.”  
Now he’s laying widely spread over the bed and couldn’t find the courage to look at the TV. When Lupita won the Oscar for best actress in a supporting role, James almost fell out of bed and her accepting speech left him choking on tears, simply because he remembered all the great stories Michael told him about her and working with her. When she mentioned Michael, James sat there on the edge of the mattress, cupping his face and giggled. He knew exactly why she called Michael her rock on set and no matter how strange that sounded regarding the cruel and sadistic character he’d played– Michael had that talent of comforting everyone on set, regardless his character’s actions.   
When Anne Hathaway presented the best actor in a supporting role, James bit his fingers and his heart galloped in his chest like it wanted to break free any second.   
Then Jared Leto won.   
James smiled, because he loved Dallas Buyers Club and had a very high opinion on Leto. Still he felt kind of hallow and lost. Michael deserved it better, he thought, although he knew very well that the two movies and the two actors were impossible to compare. He was Michael’s best friend, he had every right to feel betrayed.   
Michael of course kept his composure and accepted his defeat with a soft smile and applause for his colleague. James pouted sitting cross-legged on his bed, still in his suit and barefoot.   
Will Smith finally announced that 12 years a slave has won Best Picture and James fist-bumped into the air – seeing Michael on that stage, remaining in the background but highly appreciated in Steve’s speech made James unbelievably proud of his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's that.
> 
> What do you guys think?
> 
> Read you soon,  
> Charona


	9. Past V - Devil's dance floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I know, it's been a loooong time, but I hope you guys still enjoy this littel project ;)

Michael was nervous.  
To be completely honest he was petrified. His plane had landed three hours ago in New York and he was still pacing up and down his hotel room in sheer terror – instead of looking for the others for a little chat. He was afraid of meeting James. He was afraid of seeing James and lose his ability to speak. He was afraid of losing his composure and telling James how much he’d missed him throughout the last eight months. But most of all he was afraid of – instead of hugging James and patting his back like he was supposed to – to kiss him right on the spot and hold him and be simply near him in ways he shouldn’t even think about as his best friend. The only problem was, that he hadn’t thought about anything else than kissing and holding James since the last time they saw each other – and one knows what had happened back then…   
“Fuck!” Michael ruffled his hair and faced his next problem.   
With a desperate sigh he stared into the mirror and finally put on a grey hat. 

A minute later he left his room and took the lift downstairs. Their first interview would take place in the hotel with all of them together. There was a separate area rented for a couple of press conferences and interviews and it was their dress rehearsal before they would head out to Comic Cons all across the US.   
The first one he spotted was Jennifer who was laying widely spread out on one of the many couches in the generously designed and elegant lobby.   
“Fassbender, it’s such a pleasure to see you.” She said with a faked serious voice before she launched herself at the Irishman. Michael laughed and hugged her tightly.   
“I’ve missed you, too, Cheeky. How’s Nick doing?”   
Jennifer shrugged and gestured vaguely in another direction without making any indications of answering his question. He raised his eyebrows but stayed silent.   
Suddenly someone nicked the grey hat from Michael’s head and the rather unmanly sound that escaped from his lips was drowned out by James’s shocked shriek followed by his erupting laughter.   
“Oh my God!” He finally managed to giggle, tears of laughter glistening in blue eyes. “What the fuck happened to you?”  
“It’s for a role!” Michael growled, snatching the hat out of James’s hand again, who still stared at him in the way a child stared at an elephant in the zoo.   
“Who would be so cruel to force you to commit such a crime?”   
“It’s just hair, James. It’ll wash out.”  
“But” James frowned and seemed to be personally offended. “It’s blond!”   
Michael rolled his eyes though he grinned like a lunatic.   
“You’re going to shave off all your hair for this particular role, remember? So you’re the last person who gets to judge!” James shrugged and let his hand run through his shorter hair.   
“You know what they say about beautiful people and that there’s nothing that could disfigure them.”   
James mocked, winking at Michael, who laughed about that and nodded at James.   
“Not in this case, mate. Not in this case.”   
He dodged James’s punch just in time.   
“Fuck you!” 

Then they finally hugged each other and James sighed in relief.   
“It’s so good to see you, Michael. So good.” The Scotsman whispered into the fabric of Michael’s blue shirt and the taller man just nodded. He didn’t trust his voice enough to say anything. All he wanted was to hold James for a second longer.   
“I’ve missed you so fucking much, James.” He finally murmured and drew one small circle on James’s back, who chuckled drily. Michael closed his eyes and he knew two things with all certainty: He shouldn’t have said that no matter if it was true or not – and it really was. And second, he must let go of James. As well in the more simple physical way as in the much harder process of letting James go in his mind, in his heart. They were friends. They were best mates and Michael didn’t want to lose that. Their friendship was more important than what had happened last year in Glasgow.   
As hard as it was to face the consequences, Michael would always chose their friendship over sex – brilliant, hot and breath-taking sex, but still. When they finally ended their hug, Jennifer frowned at both of them alternately.  
“I shouldn’t ask, should I?” James sighed heavily and put an arm around her slim shoulders.  
“My dear Jennifer.” He said in a faked instructive tone. “There are things in life, which demand a very cautious approach and a sense of privacy. You’ll get that when you’re older, my dear. Now let the adults handle this on their own.”  
Jennifer laughed wholeheartedly.   
“You two are killing me.”  
“I hope not.” Michael stepped in, grinning widely. “I like it when you tear up from laughing. And it’s a great work out, you know. Of course you could simply go to the gym with Hugh, James and myself every morning at five a.m, but I appreciate that you chose a more elegant way.” He looked at James questioningly. “We should drag her out of bed tomorrow morning and chain her to a weight bench. James, what do you think?”   
Jennifer giggled drily at that and shook her head. James put a hand on Michael’s shoulder and held his stomach in laughter, nodding frantically. Michael looked down on him and grinned proudly.   
“Not in a million years, Blondie!” Jennifer huffed. 

They stood together and talked for a few minutes while waiting for Hugh, Nicholas and Peter. James was surprised how easy it was to talk to Michael. He’d expected it to be much harder and rusty and awkward – but the hair incident made the whole situation lighter to handle. Every time he looked at the hat, two thoughts popped into his head. “How could someone possibly persuade Michael Fassbender to dye his hair peroxide blond and deem it tolerable?” And “How the hell could he still be so fucking handsome as a forced blonde?!” He knew very well that he shouldn’t think of Michael that way, but he couldn’t stop himself. Seeing him again elicited all the emotions he’d locked away so thoroughly during the past eight months. It had been a long and exhausting process, but he’d come to the conclusion that he wanted Michael as a friend, his best friend. That he didn’t want to risk his marriage for something he already had. He could do without the sex, as good as it has been. But he couldn’t go without Michael and the longer he looked at him the more sense his decision made. 

Although he looked – besides the stupid blond hair – absolutely amazing, as always. He’d gained some weight (muscles, a small voice in the back of head murmured and James rolled his eyes at himself) and the beard highlighted his dominant features. Despite the fact that it was early April, he looked tanned and the slightly darker skin colour underlined the few freckles on his nose just perfectly. Michael looked healthy and happy and the thought of Michael being happy made James smile. He swallowed drily and licked his lips.   
Probably he wasn’t ready for this, for spending so much time with Michael in one room. At least there were others with them – for now. But he seriously had to think of a strategy to face Michael alone, because the way Michael tilted his head back in laughter and the self-conscious way he wore that stupid hat of his, made James want to kiss him on the spot. He shook his head and listened to one of Jennifer’s funny encounters with “Gail”.   
Michael thank God ignored his staring as best as he could and listened eagerly to Jennifer. By the time Peter and Hugh finally arrived, Michael was annoyed with comments about his hair, James’s cheeks hurt from grinning so much and Jennifer was completely done with both of them. 

 

The interviews went by in a blur. It was extremely funny and James’s stomach hurt from laughing so much. One reason for that could have been the shots they’ve downed before each interview. By the end of their – admittedly long – day they were completely drunk. 

They’ve found an Irish Pub in Brooklyn and now half the mutant cast was gathered around a shabby wooden bar counter and laughed and talked and played low-carb-poker – without chips, but with toothpicks and beer mats and crackers.   
Michael unfolded a pair of aces, the broad smile on his lips decorated with a half smoked cigarette, which dangled lazily from the corner of his mouth. Hugh cursed and James threw his awful pair of cards on the table and right into a puddle of beer. Michael laughed at that and exhaled smoke through his nostrils. James just stared. He spent the majority of the day staring at Michael, he thought, and still he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The way Michael sat in his chair, leant back and sorted his cards was just incredibly hot despite or possibly because of that stupid hat of his. James swallowed and emptied his pint, humming to a song by Dropkick Murphys in the background. He was admittedly drunk and probably shouldn’t order a next one, but there were still shots on the table and Jennifer had just gotten up to bring the next round.   
James remembered the previous interviews and congratulated himself on his composure and acting abilities. He even talked himself into believing that he didn’t stare at Michael that much and reduced their flirtations to a minimum. For him it was time to loosen the leash a little and relax with his friends.   
There’s no need to mention that this was a terrible idea...   
He came to that conclusion, when he felt himself standing up and following Michael into the hallway that led to the bathroom of the old pub. It seemed like he didn’t command one single muscle in his body and instead his legs moved completely on their own, bypassing his brain and focusing every cell in his entire body on catching up with the Irishman.   
He sneaked up from behind and waited until the door fell shut. He grabbed Michael by his shoulder, spun him around and pressed him against the wooden door.   
“What the..?” Michael couldn’t finish his sentence for James pressed his lips on Michael’s, kissing him deeply and desperately. Michael groaned and shoved James a few inches away from him.   
“What the fuck?!” He hissed and stared and James in utter shock. James swallowed and knew that his next words were going to be very important for their future friendship, their relationship in general and the… thing that was going on between them. He gathered all his courage and took a deep intake of breath before licking his lip and finally answering.

“I love you.” 

His first instinct was to freeze. Like a deer in the headlights of an approaching car – a furiously fast approaching car. His second instinct was to run. To turn on his heels and run for his life. But he suppressed them both. He simply stood there, swallowed the huge lump in his throat and started again, manically trying to sort out his drunken mind.   
“That wasn’t what I was trying to say.”  
“No?! So what are you trying to say, James, mh, what?!” Michael looked at him annoyed, confused, spreading his arms in a questioning gesture.   
James was irritated by that and felt the urge to dive into these arms and let Michael hug him. He rubbed his face to gain some kind of sobriety.   
“I want this!” He finally managed to say. “I want all of this.”  
Michael eyed their surroundings in suspicion.   
“You want to kiss me in a shabby toilet of a dirty pub in Brooklyn? Have you lost your mind?!”  
“No, that’s not what I meant!”  
“What DO you mean then, James?! For fuck’s sake!”   
James was a bit offended by Michael’s comparatively sober appearance, who must have drunk at least as much as himself. Bigger body, a small voice in his head stated. Michael took the drinks better than him, because he was taller. Taller and half Irish, half German. Two nations known for their drinking habits. He shook the thought off and looked into these incredibly grey-green eyes.   
“I want you!” He said, suddenly much more sober than two seconds ago. “I want all of you. I want to kiss you and flirt with you. I want to get into your pants, Michael, and I want you to let me. I know I shouldn’t want you like this and I’ve tried. I’ve tried so fucking hard to forget you. Eight fucking months, Michael, and I failed. I completely failed at forgetting you, at forgetting what had happened in Glasgow, but I can’t. I simply can’t get you out of my mind.”  
Michael stood with his back against the wall, staring at the tiled floor and rubbed his cheeks. When he looked up, tears glittered in his eyes.   
“I know.” It was all he said, before taking a step in James’s direction.   
“I know, James. I’ve been through the same shit, mate. But you told me you wanted time. You were the one who told me that I should wait until you cleared your mind. If trying to tell me that that’s the case then I presume we postpone this conversation to tomorrow when we’re both sober.”   
This sentence hovered over them like a Damocles sword for a few minutes.   
Then James closed the distance between them and kissed Michael again – soft this time, light as a feather. Michael turned his head a little, trailed off to James’s cheek.   
“James… I’m serious. Not before we talked about this. Otherwise it’s Glasgow all over again.”  
“I enjoyed Glasgow.” James murmured and Michael laughed hoarsely.   
“I know you did. I know that I was the reason for it.”   
Suddenly James felt a warm hand on his hip, another on his lower back. Hands touching fabric and searching for skin. A small gasp escaped his lips and his fingernails dug into Michael’s neck, who grinned at him mischievously.   
“We shouldn’t.” He moaned as Michael’s hand found his belt and loosened it with firm movements.   
“I’m not doing anything.” Michael still grinned and James finally had enough. He pushed Michael away from him and stood there panting, shaking his head.   
“We should talk first.”  
“Do you really want to talk about this? Now?” Michael gestured to his pants and smirked. “Doesn’t look like it.”  
“Cheeky bastard!” James exclaimed. “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it? Seduce me with everything you possibly can, most of all that fucking hat, getting me drunk and fucking me in a toilet in fucking Brooklyn?!”   
Michael still smirked, lit himself a cigarette and exhaled cold smoke into the damp air.   
“You don’t have any proof for that. Besides, does it work?”  
James narrowed his eyes at him and licked his lips.   
“You fuck!”  
Michael laughed and shook his head.  
“Don’t play the innocent one here, James. Ignoring me all day long wasn’t really what I had expected after eight months of barely any contact.”   
“I wasn’t ignoring you!”   
Michael rolled his eyes and took another drag and clicked his tongue angrily. James swallowed drily. He was too drunk to have this conversation.   
When Michael sucked at the cigarette filter and hollowed his cheeks, James had enough.   
He stormed towards the Irishman and kissed him before he could stop him. He smelled the smoke, beer, some tequila and Michael on his tongue as he forced it between Michael’s lips, grabbing his shoulders and pressing him against the wall with his body weight.   
“I want you!” He growled in between kisses and bit on Michael’s lower lip, which caused him to wince. “Do you hear me? I want you. Fuck the consequences. We’ll think about them later.” He smirked, pushed the hat from Michael’s head and grabbed him by the blond strands.   
“Right now, I want you on your knees, sucking my cock. You got that?” Michael laughed at that, rising his eyebrows.  
“What on earth makes you think that I would do that?”   
James’s smirk was hot and cold at the same time.   
“Because I’m asking you to. And I’ll only ask once. The next thing I’ll do is push you against this wall and fuck you senseless. Your choice. Even if I’m probably going to do that anyway.” 

Michael moaned and stopped struggling. James looked unbelievably hot. Angry, fierce, dominant. His blue eyes had locked up every stormy sea on his planet and Michael was about to deliberately dive into it. His own cock twitched inside his by now way too tight jeans.   
He simply nodded and licked his lips, before slowly kneeling down.   
The sound of James unzipping his pants was drowned out by the loud folk punk classic that reverberated through the dark hallway of the pub.


End file.
